


bring the sin

by sopaloma



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 7 Deadly Sins, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:23:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 61,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13616163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopaloma/pseuds/sopaloma
Summary: three decades. seven people. seven sins.





	1. lust

**Author's Note:**

> title from SZA, “Drew Barrymore”
> 
> i’m very excited to share this with you all! it’s something i’ve wanted to write for a while and i’ve put a lot of time into it.
> 
> each chapter focuses on a different character and a different deadly sin. all of the chapters overlap and interlink, so i do suggest reading all of them, even if you’re only interested in certain characters. i’ve tried to choose a diverse mix of the characters, including some that haven’t featured so prominently in the show. 
> 
> this fic is a divergence from canon. there are some elements of 2x12 in here but nothing later, and i’ve removed or watered-down some stories – betty and jug covering up a murder, agent adams being fake and v being so heavily involved in her parent’s business – because they are just so melodramatic that they didn’t the tone of this story. so please just go with it!
> 
> anyway, please enjoy this fic and let me know what you think of each chapter! i’ve loved exploring different elements of this show and writing some of the new (to me) characters has been so fun. (sweet pea’s chapter is probably my fave.)
> 
> oh, and the working title for this fic was 'everyone in riverdale is bi' :)
> 
> i'll stop talking now...

_feel like a brand new person_  
_(but you make the same old mistakes)_  
_i don’t care i’m in love_

 

   
9.

Archie likes Midge’s black hair and her red sneakers and the way she snorts when she laughs.

Jughead comes over to his house. His mom has made hamburgers and no one likes hamburgers more than Jughead. He laughs when he tells him he thinks Midge is pretty and almost chokes on his burger.

“Gross.”

“What? She _is_ pretty.” Jughead shakes his head, chewing on another bite. “You don’t think any girls are pretty?"

He shrugs. “Betty, I guess. But she’s the only girl I know.”

He’s right. Jughead doesn’t really talk to anyone except him and Betty, and he definitely doesn’t talk to any other girls. But he’d probably like Midge if he talked to her. She’s nice.

“Betty is pretty,” Archie agrees, because his mom had told him it was good manners to be nice about girls. “And so is Midge.”

Jughead shrugs. “If you say so.”

He spends a lot of time with Midge – she was his neighbor now, had moved next door four months ago. His mom was friends with her mom and they liked to make them play together. Archie doesn’t mind, he likes playing with her.

(Betty doesn’t seem to like her as much. When he asks her to come to the park with them one day she scrunches up her nose and tells him she has some errands to run. Archie doesn’t know what that means but he’s heard his mom say it a lot so it must be important.)

 

 

  
He kisses a girl for the first time a week before his tenth birthday.

 

 

  
Archie’s dad builds him a tree house just like the one Jughead used to have and he and Jughead turn it into their den. They put blankets and comic books and snacks in there, and hang a sign outside that says ‘No girls allowed’.

(Jughead adds another sign that says ‘Except Betty’.

When Jughead goes home, he adds another sign that says ‘and Midge’.)

It’s hot in the yard but cooler in the tree house. Archie leads Midge inside, pointing out the sign he made on his way up the ladder. They sit and read comics together, Archie pointing out all of his favorite Spider-Man moments and reeling off a list of the best villains. Midge acts interested but he doesn’t think she actually is. That’s okay because he pretends to like the new outfits she buys for her Bratz dolls.

“My sister has a boyfriend,” she says, finger twirling around a piece of her hair.

“Yeah? Who is it?”

She shrugs. “He goes to her school. He's older. I don't know his name."

"Is he nice?"

She shrugs again. "I guess. She likes him. They're always kissing."

"Oh. Right."

Archie's never kissed anyone before. He hugged Betty one time and she kissed him on the cheek, but that didn't count. She was his best friend and kisses only count when you kiss on the lips.

He side-eyes her but she's still looking at the comic in her hands. "Have you ever kissed anyone?"

"Nope."

"Do you... want to kiss someone?"

She smiles but she's still reading. "Maybe. If I liked them."

"What about me?"

Her eyes flicker over to him, eyebrows raised. "You want to kiss me?"

"We could try," he says. "It might be nice."

"Okay," she smiles, putting the comic book on the floor. 

His eyebrows shoot up as she turns her body towards his. His licks his dry lips, unsure of what to do. He knew they had to touch lips but he'd never done this before. Thankfully, she takes the lead, leaning towards him with her eyes closed. He closes his eyes, too, because he's seen people do that in movies, and he feels light pressure on his mouth as Midge touches her lips to his for just a second.

She pulls back and he opens his eyes to find her smiling. He is... disappointed. He didn't really feel anything. He doesn't understand why people like kissing so much. But he doesn't think Midge wants to be told that he felt nothing.

Instead, he says, "That was really nice."

She smiles, looks up at him beneath her eyelashes. "It was."

 

 

 

Jughead comes over for dinner again and they have pizza and ice cream, and Jughead’s mouth is stained red from the juice his mom gave them.

“I kissed Midge,” he tells him because he feels like he should.

Jughead snorts, nose scrunching up like Betty’s. “Why?”

Archie shrugs. “Because.”

He is quiet. Then, “What was it like?”

“Wet. Kinda gross.”

They both dissolve into laughter. They don’t know how to answer when Archie’s mom asks them what’s so funny.

 

 

 

 

  
14.

Hannah Hawkins is pretty and blonde, just like Betty, but she’s not sweet. He thinks she’s actually kind of mean – always yelling at the younger kids and playing bad pranks on the other teenagers – but he doesn’t tell her that because he doesn’t want her to yell at him.

All of the other guys like Hannah because she grew up over the summer and now you can see bra straps when she wears tank tops. But Hannah doesn’t like the other guys; Hannah likes _him_.

They kiss during a game of ‘truth or dare’, mouths sweet and sticky from the s’mores they ate earlier. She pulls him behind the girls cabin when everyone else goes to bed and puts her tongue in his mouth and his hand on her boob. It’s the most exciting night of Archie’s young life.

He spends the whole summer following Hannah around, hoping for a glimpse of her in a two-piece or another stolen kiss. She gives him plenty, always giggling against his mouth when his hand immediately gravitates towards her chest.

It’s a good distraction. At camp, he feels a whole world away from his hometown and his house and his parents who won’t stop shouting at each other. And sometimes, when Hannah’s kissing him or putting her hand down his shorts, he forgets about home entirely.

 

 

  
He loses his virginity the second before last night of camp.

Hannah is in control, pulling him into a dark storage closet by the lake and then on top of her. Her shirt is off but her bra stays on and Archie fumbles with the condom she puts in his hand. She tells him she’s done this before, lips pressed against his ear. Archie already feels nervous but his anxiety increases tenfold at her hushed confession.

He lasts three whole minutes.

He immediately collapses on top of her, face buried in her shoulder. She shoves at him, grunting under his weight.

“Well thanks for nothing,” she snaps, sliding her shorts back up her legs.

He doesn’t know what to say. His breathing is still labored, his body recovering from the best thing he’s ever felt, but there’s shame there too. His cheeks heat up with embarrassment and he’s so glad there’s no light in the closet to reveal the redness.

She leaves, slamming the door shut behind her. Archie lies back on the floor, trying to make sense of how something could feel both so good and so bad.

 

 

  
Hannah avoids him during their last day and doesn’t say goodbye when his dad comes to pick him up. Archie doesn’t think he’ll ever see her again and there’s some comfort in that.

When he gets home, his mother is waiting at the dining table, a smile on her face that doesn’t match her eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asks, a feeling of dread creeping up his spine.

His dad sighs, clasps a hand on his shoulder.

“Son, we need to talk.”

 

 

 

 

 

16.

Geraldine loves him. He knows she does.

She had to. The way they moved together, the breathy whispers of _yes_ and _more_ , the look in her eyes as she took him inside of her. No one could fake that kind of connection. And yes, they need to keep things secret, but in his opinion it’s a small price to pay to be with her.

“So handsome,” she murmurs, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

He smiles, the sunlight filtering down on them bathing them in warmth. It’s so quiet by the river, a safe space for them to be together and alone. There is so little noise around them. Trees rustling, water flowing, birds chirping.

It doesn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable to lie here with her and exchange no words. He thinks it must be a sign that what they have is special; that they can just be without having to fill all of the silence with noise.

He leans up on his elbow to kiss her.

Trees rustling, water flowing, birds chirping.

A gunshot.

 

 

  
He knows Betty is talking to him and he’s trying to pay attention, he really is, but it’s so hard to focus when the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen walks into Pop's. Her face is stunning - big, dark eyes and high-arched eyebrows and lips shiny and red. She is in a cape, expensive and dramatic, and she reaches up to uncover her head.

With the hood down, the mystery is gone but the intrigue remains. He can’t tear his eyes away. He doesn’t recognize her; she must be new. There was no way he’d ever forget that face.

She approaches the table, asks about the onion rings, and Archie can _feel_ the idiotic smile on his face and Betty’s incredulous look, but he can’t wipe it away.

“I’m _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ but this place is strictly _In Cold Blood_ ,” she quips and he laughs, boyish and smitten.

“Veronica Lodge.” Her red lips quirk up, one manicured hand extended.

He shakes it, still smiling. “Archie Andrews.”

 

 

  
He just can’t seem to get it right. One girl after another and so many mistakes.

Geraldine is gone, now just a memory that he needs to file away, maybe for use in a song one day. He tries not to ever think about Betty’s heartbroken face, eyes blinking tears away as she stands on her front stoop in a pretty pink dress.

(But she has Jughead now. She was happy now.)

Val is beautiful, talented, a calming creative presence that makes him want to curl up on a couch with her in his arms and sing about how _no one gets me like you do_. But he is an idiot, lured away by the Blossoms and their wealth and Cheryl’s wide, brown eyes. At first his motivations are selfish, Mrs Blossom’s promises reeling him in, but then he notices the vulnerability behind Cheryl’s gorgeous, steely veneer and he sticks around for a whole other reason.

Then she kisses him, staining his mouth vermillion, and he knows he’s made a mistake.

(He tries to ignore the pain in her eyes, the brown darker and glossy as she watches him turn away and leave. She was already dealing with so much. He didn’t want to add rejection to that list.)

 

 

 

Jughead is in love with Betty. He’s not sure if his friend recognizes it – it’s not like he’s ever experienced it, hasn’t even had a crush on a girl before Betty as far as he knows – but Archie does. He can see it in his soft gaze, so new and full of secret-affection.

He tells himself that he’s jealous of Jughead’s new relationship and not his girl. He doesn’t want Betty – not like that. He just wants what his two best friends have found. Love.

 

 

  
Veronica’s kiss is dark but sweet, searching tongues and chocolate milkshake and his lip trapped between her teeth. She is stunning, sophisticated, and probably way too good for him.

In the morning he is naked beneath her expensive sheets and he thinks he could get used to this. Glossy hair spread across her pillow and pressed pajama shirt draped across her body. He wants to wake up next to her again and again.

She smiles up at him, fingertips touching the sensitive skin of his neck and making him shiver. He is crazy about her, infatuated after such a short time, and he wonders if this will become something huge and significant. Maybe he has finally found what he has been longing for.

 

 

Blood. So much blood. He can’t see, tears blurring his vision, but somehow he gets there, pulls his father, weak and heavy, out of the truck.

They wheel him away on a white bed, out of his sight. Archie reaches up, hands covering his head and sob tearing from his throat.

There was _so much_ blood.

 

 

 

 

  
17.

Archie has never felt this way before. It’s more than lust and sex, fevered kisses and her body beneath his. He wants her around all the time; misses her when they’re apart, even if just for a few hours.

She is a light in the darkness that has been his life for the past few months. For all of her biting comebacks and icy stares, there is a soft heart there that helped him when he needed her the most. (Even if he couldn’t admit it at the time.)

He watches her, stretched out in front of the fireplace, body pressed against the length of his and features highlighted by the crackling flames. Sometimes he can't believe that someone as beautiful as her wants to be with him, and he feels so lucky whenever she smiles at him or touches him or kisses him. He tells her he loves her – it feels impossible to keep it from her any longer.

She doesn’t say it back.

 

 

  
He is lost. He is outside of a bar he doesn’t belong in, in a part of town that doesn’t welcome him, watching a girl drive away that no longer wants him.

He walks home, the journey long but allowing him to be alone with his thoughts. His hands are buried in his pockets, trying to protect himself against some of the winter chill. It is useless – the rain begins to fall again and he is soaked to the bone.

His shirt hits the floor with a wet smack, the heat in his house immediately warming his skin. He had ignored his dad’s questions when he had come home; he didn’t want to tell him why he looked so down. Not yet.

The room is dark but he can see light just outside. He wanders over to his window, catching a glimpse of Betty in her own bedroom. Hair pulled back into her signature ponytail, comfortable and soft in her pastel pajamas, she is so unlike the girl who had danced on stage in black lace.

(He doesn’t know that girl.)

He pauses, watching her. She looks as miserable as he feels, face hard but sad. Slowly, his mouth tilts up at one corner. He still had some good things in his life.

 

 

  
Kissing Betty is weird. He can’t think of a better word to describe it.

It was something he was sure he wanted for a hot minute; a strange spurt of jealousy that confused him and left him wondering _what if?_ But now he had experienced it – being more than just Betty’s friend – and he regretted it almost immediately.

While Veronica was indulgent chocolate shakes and expensive pearls, Betty was sweet strawberry and three simple studs. She was the wholesome one, the girl you take home to your mom and buy a wood-panelled cottage with.

But now he had a taste for indulgence and excess.

 

 

  
Veronica forgives him; tells him she understands that they were caught up in the moment and the kiss meant nothing. Archie is relieved but he still wants to show her just how much he cares about her – that she is always his first choice. Because being buried alive and facing the so-called Angel of Death could help clarify a few things. Like the love you have for another person.

There is a niggling sense of guilt that always lingers when he talks with Agent Adams, and her forgiveness only makes it worse. Despite his faults, Veronica adored her father and Hiram encountering trouble again could truly destroy her family this time.

It’s a dilemma. He could continue to get involved in the Lodge’s business, obtain info on Hiram and get himself mixed up in stuff you only see in movies, stuff he doesn’t truly understand. Or he could turn away and pretend he knows nothing.

He’ll chose whatever option keeps her by his side.

 

 

 

 

 

18.

Their second break-up occurs during the summer before senior year.

The FBI fails to make a case against Hiram and he continues to meddle in the town’s business. Archie doesn’t know if it’s for better or worse anymore, but since the case fell apart he’s tried to stop caring. Veronica was what mattered; he needed to let go of his vendetta against her dad.

Somehow, Veronica finds out about his involvement.

Archie highly suspects Hiram hired a private investigator to look into the case they were trying to build, who uncovered his garage-chats with Agent Adams. The fact that Hiram hasn’t confronted him is a sign that Veronica sweet-talked her father into letting her handle it. And also a sign that as she tells him that it’s over between them – teary-eyed and face colored with hurt and betrayal – she still cares.

 

 

  
The break-up last three months. Archie writes her a song, one of his best, and sings it outside her parent’s new mansion every night for a week.

On the Sunday she comes outside in a silky purple robe and fluffy slippers. She stands in front of him outside her gate, arms crossed and lips pursed.

“Ronnie, I’m so sorry for going behind your back. I know I should have told you I was talking to them, I just– I just love you so much and I wanted to keep you safe–”

She raises her hand and he shuts up.

“Alright, Lloyd Dobler. Enough already.” Her lips quirk up into a smile. “I forgive you.”

 

 

  
His cheeks hurt from smiling, acceptance letter clutched in his hand. A full football scholarship to University of Michigan.

He’s never seen his dad so proud, eyes glassy with tears he will never shed as he wraps him up in a hug.

He pats his back. “I’m proud of you, son.”

He calls his mom first and then Jughead, who tells Betty as she’s sitting right next to him. He can hear her excited scream through the line as Jughead says he’s so happy for him. Some of his excitement wanes as he drives to Veronica’s house. He wants to tell her face-to-face – the phone felt too impersonal, especially when there was a conversation to be had.

She looks so happy to see him, like she always does, greeting him with a kiss, a smile pressed against his own. It falls as soon as he tells her.

“What? What is it?”

“Archie, I’m so happy for you but...” Her eyes fall to her lap and when she looks up again, they’re shiny with tears. “I got accepted to my dream school. I’m going to Barnard College.”

He swallows thickly against the emotion rising in his throat. He knows what this means.

“So you’ll be in New York. And I’ll be in Michigan. We’ll be hours apart.”

Veronica nods, tears tracking down her cheeks now. He already knows what she’s thinking – this has to end, they don’t have a future.

“We can do long distance,” he insists, taking her hands in his. “We can Skype and visit each other, and we’ll have the holidays together.”

“Archie...”

“Don’t.” He cups her face, looks her in the eye. “Don’t do this, Ronnie. You don’t have to do this.”

“Archie,” she says firmly, reaching up to wrap her fingers around his wrists. “Listen to me. I love you _so much_ but long distance is hard. And it rarely works. I don’t want us setting ourselves up for disappointment.”

“But that doesn’t have to be us. Sometimes it does work!” he tries to reason.

“Do you really want that?” she asks softly. “Being with somebody, but only for part of the year?”

Of course he doesn’t want that but he wants _her_ , so he’s willing to try.

“Let’s not talk about this now,” he says, trying to shift the conversation. “We have months until graduation and then we have the summer. Lets focus on now, on being together. We can have this conversation another time, see how we feel in a few months.”

She nods, licks the moisture from her lips. He kisses her, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her lip balm.

He is willing to try and prays that she is too.

 

 

 

It’s not enough. No amount of kisses or thoughtful dates or affectionate murmurs or nights spent curled up in Veronica’s bed can convince her that they should stay together.

“You’re being a coward,” he accuses one night. “This is just like when you couldn’t tell me you loved me. You always think the worst is going to happen and now you’re pushing me away.”

“Maybe I am,” she admits, tearfully. “But I also know I’m right. I’m trying to protect myself from heartbreak. And you don’t see it, but I’m trying to protect you, too.”

He resolves to give them the best summer of their lives. If she could see just how much he loved her, maybe she’d reconsider.

They takes trips to the city, just the two of them, visiting Veronica’s old haunts and enjoying expensive hotel rooms. They spend time at the river with Betty and Jughead, grilling food and inside jokes and stretching out in the sun. And they go to parties – rowdy, drunken affairs hosted by various members of the football team, dirty dancing and vodka-soaked kisses and stealing away in a locked bedroom that didn’t belong to them.

He wants her to see that they’re better together. And they can put miles and whole states between them, but they’re strong enough to make it work.

 

 

  
His efforts are all for nothing, and it isn’t until Veronica murmurs, “I love you, and I’m so sorry”, that he realizes all he has done is give himself more memories, more reasons to miss her.

 

 

 

Their goodbye breaks his heart. They are alone in her huge home, just the two of them preparing to let each other go.

He kisses her, slips her clothes from her body, admires her beauty in nothing but a string of pearls. She is exquisite, a _beacon of light_ as she had once called him, despite the ice and darkness she seemed to think she was made of.

Her nails press into his shoulder blades as he moves inside of her, leaving marks, a calling card; making it impossible for him to forget her.

(As if he ever could.)

He knows she can feels his tears against her skin as he buries his face in her neck, memorizing her smell and her taste and the sounds she makes as he loves her.

After, they lie together, face to face and fingertips touching, tracing the other’s skin.

“Do you remember the night we met? At Pop’s?” He nods, watching a wistful smile pull at her lips. “You were so all-American, sitting in a bygone-era diner with your sweater and your blinding smile. I remember thinking that you were so beautiful.” She ghosts her fingers along his cheek. “And that I wanted to make you mine.”

And he is. He thinks he always will be. 

 

 

  
He leaves in the morning while she is still asleep. He stares at her face for a little while, committing it to memory despite all of the others he has locked away, and brushes a soft kiss against her cheek.

Her bedroom door clicks softly shut behind him and he leaves the Lodge home for the last time.

Maybe he was a coward, too, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually say the word. Goodbye.

 

 

 

 

  
20.

Archie’s major is a surprising choice, something he had never considered in high school, but once he has made it, it just makes so much sense.

He is one of only a few male teaching majors – and there were even less men who wanted to become music teachers – usually spending his classes surrounded by women who hope to one day become educators. He likes the change from the male-dominated world of football. He spends so much of his time kicking balls around with guys and partying at frat houses, that he likes spending time learning in a calmer, more focused environment.

Of course, that is until he starts using Tinder.

He’d never seen the point before. He knew he was good-looking and he had no problem hooking up with girls, but he hadn’t felt the desire to move from girl to girl, one meaningless encounter after another.

(His freshman year he only sleeps with one girl, on three separate occasions, much to the confusion of his teammates. She’s a sorority sister; wealthy, Colombian and in a word, vapid.

He pretends that she, and his lack of action, have nothing to do with Veronica.)

Tinder changes everything. His friend downloads the app onto his phone, horrified that he didn’t have an account and demanding to rectify the situation as soon as possible.

At first he is amused by the concept and the instantness of it all. He swipes right and left, laughing to himself as he sees photo after photo of girls he’s seen around campus, some of them bearing no resemblance to how they looked in real life.

Then he gets his first message – from a gorgeous redhead in his Monday morning class who had caught his eye the first day of the semester – and he is hooked.

 

 

  
It turns out, having one-night stands with girls in your classes can make things really awkward. Especially when you’ve slept with four in the same room.

His roommate thinks it’s hilarious, giggling as he watches a blonde girl stalk past Archie with narrowed eyes and a look that could kill. Archie is mostly confused – he’d been upfront with all of the women, made it clear that he didn’t want anything more. And besides, wasn’t this how Tinder worked?

Betty has some words of comfort but she doesn’t let him down easy.

“You’re not a douchebag, Arch,” she assures him over the phone, and he can hear Jughead chucking in the background. “You were honest with those girls and despite their misgivings, you didn’t mislead them. But maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t sleep with girls you have to see and study with everyday for the rest of the year.” She sighs. “And if you do, definitely do not have sex with two women in the same class. That’s dumb, plain and simple.”

After their conversation, Archie swipes left on every girl he recognizes from his classes.

 

 

  
Archie takes Betty’s advice and stops hooking up with girls in his class. It’s a good decision on his part and makes his life on campus significantly less awkward.

And then, because he seems to have no self-control, he makes an even bigger mistake.

 

 

  
It had started as a flirtation. Glances across the room and hands brushed against his shoulders. He had swiped right again, on someone too close for comfort. His professor.

Angela is older, sexy, confident in her sexuality and not afraid to show it. He had swiped right as a joke, laughing with his friends about the hot professor offering herself up to the judgement of her students. He hadn’t expected her to message him.

It remains innocent for weeks – suggestive, definitely, but they haven’t actually done anything wrong.

Then she asks him to stay behind after class, a smirk on her lips and intent in her eyes. And Archie feels an awful sense of deja vu.

 

 

  
He is between her legs, her heels pressed into the backs of his thighs as thrusts into her. The desk shakes beneath them, rocking with the movements. Angela hand falls back to support herself and a stapler falls off the table.

“So good,” she breathes out, head thrown back.

With one hand wrapped behind her back, the other explores her body, feeling the curves beneath her clothes. It’s a fantasy come to life, the hot-for-teacher storyline once again becoming his reality.

He comes so hard he doesn’t even think about regretting it.

 

 

  
It happens five more times before she stops showing up to class. By the end of the day he has discovered why – she has been suspended.

He doesn’t try to contact her – he doesn’t think that will work in her favor – but his stomach twists with guilt and shame. He’s done it again. He’s making the same mistakes.

But this is not the same, Jughead tells him firmly. He is not sixteen, being manipulated and abused by a woman who he thinks loves him. This time he is an adult who has made a poor decision and gotten someone in trouble. And it’s normal for him to feel some guilt about possibly ruining a person’s career but he shouldn’t feel guilt over what occurred in his past. He shouldn’t ever think the two situations are the same.

 

 

  
(That’s easier said than done.)

 

 

 

 

 

21.

He is the youngest of the group, that last one to become legal. Betty and Jughead insist he comes to the city to finally celebrate. Some of his old school friends come along too – Reggie and Moose, and Kevin. It’s a reunion of sorts, old faces coming together again.

Nobody told him Veronica was invited. He can’t believe she came.

“Happy birthday, Archiekins.”

She smiles and leans up to kiss him on the cheek. He closes his eyes, inhales her perfume, and schools his face into a neutral expression before she pulls away. If he was going to be around her, he needed a drink. Or ten.

They go to a bar and then move to a nightclub, everyone drunk and excitable and itching to dance. Even Jughead, who is a handsy drunk, unable to keep his hands or his mouth away from Betty.

He’s successfully avoided her for most of the night, catching her eye occasionally but managing to engage in another conversation before he gives in to his urge to approach her. In the haze of the club, he has no such control. She is like a siren, calling him in, sequinned dress sparkling beneath the lights, mesmerizing him.

Music plays around them, the bass pumping, Josie's voice filtering out of the speakers. His hands find her waist, pulling her flush against him. They move to the music, her back pressed to his front, and Archie’s hands begin to wander across her hips. She covers them with her own and slides them across her body.

She makes the first move, turning in his arms and pressing her lips to his. She tastes like cranberry and tequila and everything he shouldn’t want. But he can’t help it – he does, he always will.

“I have a hotel room,” he says into her ear, voice clear over the thumping music.

She looks up at him, teeth biting at the corner of her lip, and nods.

 

 

  
Making love to Veronica is all muscle-memory. He knows exactly what she likes – where she likes to be kissed and touched, and all the places that make her sigh and scream.

She is above him, his face pressed against the slick skin between her breasts. Her fingers clutch at his hair, high-pitched moans leaving her lips.

It’s always too much and not quite enough. He wants more of her, always, needs to be even closer. But the emotions that rise up inside of him are almost too much to bear, driving him crazy.

She effected him like no one else could.

 

 

  
In the morning, he wakes to an empty bed. He rolls over to grab his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the harsh light of the screen. He has one message.

  
**Unknown**  
I won’t call it a mistake because I could never regret you.

I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. V x

 

 

 

 

 

25.

He moves to New Jersey and gets his first teaching job at a small elementary school. It is hard, putting all of the work and studying into practice, but it’s rewarding too. Teaching was a profession that could really make you feel like you were making a difference.

On his first day he meets the teacher across the hall – Miss Evans, Nicole. He wouldn’t say it’s love at first sight, but after one introduction, he cannot stop thinking about her.

Jughead and Reggie tell him he’s making a mistake – getting involved with someone at work could get messy. He assures them their worries are for nothing. He thinks she’s gorgeous and yeah, some of the best moments of his day are when they flirt across the hallway or in the teacher’s lounge, but they were just friends and nothing more.

 

 

  
(Archie’s always been good at lying to himself.)

 

 

  
They go out for after-works drinks one Friday, a collection of the younger teachers and some of the others. Nicole finds him at the bar, full lips stretched into a beautiful smile and curly hair pulled up into a bun.

“What are you having? It’s on me.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he assures her.

“No, I insist. Call it a welcoming gift.”

They find a booth at the back of the bar and tuck themselves away from the rest of the group. They sit so close her thigh presses up against his, a loose tendril of her hair brushing against him every time she moves. There in tension between them, their flirting in this environment taking a new turn. It was more intimate here and they had no reason to keep things rated PG.

He tests the waters, hand landing on her knee, thumb rubbing the bare skin inside. She doesn’t move it away; her own hand reaches across to rest against his neck.

It takes another two minutes for him to kiss her.

 

 

  
Three weeks later, she is beneath him on her bed, giggling as he presses kisses all over body, lingering at the extra-sensitive spots.

“Stop, stop,” she begs between her laughter.

He crawls back over her body, smiling. She leans up to kiss him, tasting herself on his tongue.

She sighs, happy. “You’ve tired me out, Archie. I need some water.”

He rolls away, relaxing against her pillows as he watches her walk to the kitchen, nude. Her phone vibrates beside him; once, twice and then a third time. He glances over, catching sight of the notification on the screen as it lights up. He knew that little fire symbol.

“So... I promise I wasn’t snooping but... are you on Tinder?”

She shrugs, climbing back onto the bed. “Yeah. Why? Is that a problem?”

“Uh, no. I guess it just would have been nice to know.”

She frowns. “Well, we’re not exclusive, so I’m not doing anything wro–“

“No, I know,” he says but he didn’t. Not really. This is all new information.

“Archie,” she sighs, turning his face to hers. “I didn’t realize you wanted that. If I had known–“

“It’s okay, Nic.” He smiles tightly. “Like you said, we’re not exclusive. Let’s just forget about this, alright?”

“Alright.”

The mood has shifted and he doesn’t like it.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

She looks over at him and he pulls her closer. They kiss, slowly, his tongue slipping into her mouth as his hand grasps her thigh. It travels up, cupping her breast and brushing his thumb against her nipple. She gasps into his mouth.

“Want me to go down on you again?”

She smirks. “Like I’m gonna say no.”

 

 

  
He doesn’t know why he didn’t listen to Reggie and Jughead. They only ever had his best interests at heart and honestly, Jughead was usually right.

Things get messy between he and Nicole. Because he wants her to be his girlfriend and she wants casual fun.

She lets him down gently, her smile soft and eyes full of pity as she tells him _you’re a great guy but I just wanted something casual_.

Rejection is a bitch.

 

 

  
A month later, when he finally thinks he’s getting over the whole Nicole thing, she finds him in the break room. She pushes him against the counter and presses herself against him.

“Do you still want to be with me?”

He can’t lie. “Yes.”

She kisses him, slow and good and totally inappropriate inside an elementary school. He moans, hands clutching at her waist, mouth chasing after hers as she pulls away.

“What made you change your mind?”

She shrugs, mouth tilted up on one-side.

“I was thinking that I might like to try this whole relationship thing and you’re the only guy that I want to try it with.”

That reason was more than good enough for him.

 

 

 

 

  
28.

Ten years.

It’s been ten years since she broke his heart, eighteen and beautiful and unwilling to take a chance on them, asleep in her pristine white bedroom as he left without a word. Eight years since she stole it again, sexy and sparkling under the lights of a Manhattan club, only to leave him in the morning with a text goodbye.

And despite all of the years that have passed, he feels just the same.

(Was this normal? To be almost thirty and still crazy about the girl you had loved in your youth, the girl you had hardly spoken to during all the time in between?

Or was it just a rebound reaction? His last relationship is over and now he’s alone and he wants something familiar, _someone_ familiar?)

Around him, guests chatter and dance and drink, revelling in the celebrations of the day. Betty and Jughead sit at the head table, her in his lap, heads pressed close together as they whispered to each other. They were so wrapped up in each other, even in this room full of people who were often trying to demand their attention.

He feels sixteen all over again, seeing his two best friends so in love with each other and wishing that he had that for himself; and watching this girl, this beautiful, mysterious girl, who had captured his attention and then his heart.

He needs to make a choice. What he wants to do is go over to her, tell her he misses her – that he always does, even when he convinces himself that he doesn’t – and ask her to give him another shot.

But that would require courage and he’s not feeling too brave.

He chooses the simpler route; a classic move.

“Wanna dance?”

Veronica smiles up at him, eyes sparkling in the lights surrounding the gazebo. She slips her hand into his.

“Why, Archiekins. I thought you’d never ask.”

With her head resting against his chest, it’s hard to recall all of the pain that exists between them. Instead there is only love and longing. She is so warm and familiar in his arms. She evens smells the same. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to hold her like this and not want her to be his again.

She pulls back to look up at him, hands linked around his neck.

“It feels like only yesterday we were dancing like this at my confirmation.”

He smiles. That was a good memory, despite all of the drama that followed.

“You were so beautiful that day. A miracle is how I think your father put it.”

She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling.

“He can be so cheesy.”

Archie shrugs. “I don’t agree with Hiram Lodge on a lot of things, but that I definitely did.”

She exhales heavily.

“What? What is it?”

“I shouldn’t still feel this way,” she says quietly, dark eyes flickering between his. “I shouldn’t hear you say things like that and want to kiss you.”

He licks his lips, voice low as he murmurs, “Ronnie...”

She shakes her head.

“Let’s not do this right now, Archie. This is Betty and Jughead’s day.” She presses her cheek against his chest again, arms wrapped tight around him as they sway to the music. “Another time,” she says softly.

He presses a kiss against her hair.

“Another time.”

 

 

 

 

 

30.

She is waiting for him across the street, sat on the top stoop of a brownstone, handbag between her feet as she scrolls through her phone. She looks up momentarily, catching site of him, and rises to her feet. He jogs across the road to meet her, unable to hide his smile.

“How did it go?”

He grins. “I got it.”

“Oh, my God. Archie!”

She squeals and leaps from the stoop, into his arms. He catches her easily, arms supporting her thighs as she wraps her legs around him.

She cups his face between her hands. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Give yourself a little credit here, baby. It wouldn’t have happened without you.”

“All I did was tell you about the job,” she argues. “You got the interview and made a good impression. That’s all you.”

He had moved from New Jersey to New York six months ago and he finally had a job he was excited about – music teacher at Veronica’s former prep school.

It had taken half a year but he was finally here, in this amazing city with his closest friends, and a job that he couldn’t wait to start. And it had all happened because of her.

Making the move to New York to be with her had been a big decision but he was tired of waiting to truly be with her. They had agreed to try again after Betty and Jughead’s wedding, had taken things slowly for a year, got to know these current, grown-up versions of themselves, and determined whether love still really remained between them or if they were just failing to let go of their first love.

Archie knows now he will love any version of her, at any age, at any time. There was a reason he could never get over her and it’s because he wasn’t meant to.

“Ready to go?” she asks as she lands on her feet and adjusts her skirt.

His links his fingers through hers. “Yep.”

 

 

 

Betty looks tired and uncomfortable, the swell of her stomach huge and imposing on her small frame. She didn’t have long to go; their baby would arrive within the next few weeks. She looked more than ready and he thinks Jughead is too. He’d become an over-attentive, nervous wreck since they’d discovered they were pregnant. It was strange to his usually guarded friend so open with his adoration and protectiveness of his wife and child. Archie likes it.

“Congratulations,” she smiles as soon as she sees him.

She reaches up to hug him, her belly pressing into in his. He laughs, awkwardly manoeuvring himself to wrap his arms around her.

“Thanks, Betty.”

They sit in a booth by the window, Archie and Veronica on one side, and Betty and Jughead on the other. It’s a wood-panelled booth in a trendy Hells Kitchen restaurant – so different from the red plastic booths back home – but he stills feel nostalgic as he sits there, watching his friends and his girlfriend laugh and share stories.

The milkshakes have become beer and wine, the conversation is no longer about homecoming and jubilees but promotions and strollers, and yet one particular feeling still remains.

He loves these people and they love him right back.

 


	2. gluttony

_cool cherry cream, a nice apple tart_  
_i feel your taste all the time we're apart_

 

  
7.

It’s easy to ignore the yelling when there is a chicken pot pie in front of him.

Today is a good day. His mom was smiling when she took him to school, he went to Archie’s house to play with him and Betty, he showed his little sister his new GI Joe’s, and his mom made dinner.

Jughead likes it when his mom makes dinner. He’s like takeout, too – burgers and fries and noodles and spicy chicken – and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but it’s special when his mom cooks. It means she’s happy and she had a good day. They’re all having a good day.

(Except his dad.)

“Come on, Jelly. Eat your food,” he instructs his sister.

He takes her spoon and scoops up some of her yogurt. She eats it all, only a small drop landing on her chin. He smiles, pleased. His mom would be proud – she was always showing him how to feed his sister. His mom rushes into the kitchen then, hair messy and face pink. She looks like she’s crying but he doesn’t ask why. He never asks why.

“Jug, honey, can you feed your sister? I’m going out.”

Jughead nods, wanting to help his mom. She rewards him with a smile and leans down to press a kiss against his hat. He hears the click and fizz of a beer can being opened behind him. He was going to stay out of his dad’s way tonight. He didn’t want him to yell at him.

He looks over at his sister who now has her little, chubby fingers pressed into her yogurt. He smiles and takes another bite of his pot pie. Things weren’t so bad. His mom smiled at him and his sister is happy and he’s eating food.

He loves food.

 

 

 

 

 

13.

Jughead isn’t stupid. He knows why his parents are fighting again, even if they tell him to go to his room when it starts or snap at each in hushed whispers in the kitchen.

His dad has lost his job. Again.

His mom took Jellybean an hour ago and said she would back soon. He heard the trailer door slam shut thirty minutes later, so he knows his dad is out. Probably at a bar.

His stomach rumbles, loud and empty. He pads into the kitchen and searches through the cupboards, finds some bread to make a sandwich. When he removes it from the packet, he frowns. It was covered in blue spots – mould. He sighs and opens the other cupboards but comes up with nothing. There’s nothing in the fridge either – at least, nothing edible.

He doesn’t know why there’s no food. In the past, when his dad had been laid off, his friends had visited the trailer and given his mom money or food to help out. Tall, long-haired men, shoulders covered in black leather emblazoned with a snake, with envelopes and bags of groceries.

But they hadn’t come around in a while.

It’s not that late, only seven-thirty, so he decides to call Archie. His stomach twists as he punches in the memorized numbers. He answers on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Arch. It’s me.”

“Oh, hey, Jug. What’s up?”

His face feels hot with shame as he asks, “Can I come over? There’s no food at my place.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Just let me ask my mom.” There is muffled noise as Archie walks away from the phone to speak with his mother. A minute later, he returns, “She said come over. She’s making pizza. Is that okay?”

His stomach rumbles again at the thought of hot bread and melted cheese and, hopefully, pepperoni.

“That sounds awesome.”

“Do you need my dad to pick you up?”

He’s already asking for so much.

“No,” he says quietly. “I can walk.”

 

 

  
A week later, he finds himself in the same position. His mom is gone, a note left on the kitchen counter, and his dad left hours ago, the rumbling of his bike’s engine loud and obnoxious in the early morning. He looks at the landline, debating whether to call Archie again.

(He remembers the soft look in Archie’s mom’s eyes as she opened the door, apron tied around her waist. It looked almost like love, a motherly affection, but he knows what it was. Pity.)

He couldn’t do that.

He searches the trailer, opening every drawer and cupboard and jar he can find. He rummages through the pockets of discarded clothes, on the floor and in laundry baskets. He drops his findings onto the coffee table, a spread of coins and single bills. He sits, counting it all up and stacking the coins until he loses track of all the pennies and gives up.

He grabs the money and shoves it into his pocket, then grabs his jacket and leaves the trailer.

The walk to Pop’s is short but it’s cold outside and his nose is pink when he walks through the red doors. Pop Tate smiles as soon as he sees him.

“Jughead! How are you doing?”

“I’m good. Just wanted to get some food.”

“Oh, yeah. What are you having?”

“How much could I get for...” He pulls the collection of coins and dollar bills out of his pocket, holding them out for Pop to see. “This much?”

Pop’s smile falls, eyes fixed on the money and then flickering up to his face. There is a look there, so similar to the one he saw on Mrs Andrew’s face. Jughead’s stomach tightens up.

(He knows what ‘charity case’ means, has heard Reggie Mantle spit it at him enough times.)

“This one is on me,” he says softly, pushing Jughead’s fingers until they close around the money. “Burger and a vanilla shake?”

Jughead nods, smiles. “Like always.”

“Coming right up. Go take a seat.”

Jughead chooses a booth by the window in the back corner, away from anyone else in the diner. His stomach gurgles and his fingers knot together, foot tapping impatiently beneath the table. He looks up at the clock on the wall and counts down the minutes until his food arrives.

 

 

 

 

  
16.

His mom leaves behind a thick envelope full of cash and a trailer devoid of any noise or joy.

He packs a bag two days after she is gone and sets up camp in the Twilight Drive-in projection room. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do.

(It’s not like he had anywhere else to go. Archie has stopped talking to him and hardly ever sees him, and Betty is away in California on her internship. And it’s not as if he has any other friends.)

He takes his laptop – his most prized possession – and messenger bag, and walks to Pop’s, the burgers and coffee calling to him. Pop is happy to see him, as always, his most frequent customer.

Jughead types away, lost in his story, this tale he is weaving about a fictional town very much like the one he lives in. Pop comes over, the smell of food breaking his concentration, and places it in front of him.

“It’s on the house, Jughead,” he smiles.

Jughead tries to argue, insists that he will pay, but Pop doesn’t listen. He still feels embarrassed – that never really goes away – but he wasn’t about to turn down free food. He would take whatever he could get.

He smiles. “Thanks, Pop.”

“Hey,” Pop says before he returns to the kitchen. “Did you hear about the Blossom boy? It’s a terrible tragedy. So young.”

Jughead’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. What the hell had happened to Jason Blossom?

 

 

  
Betty makes everything a little better.

He was back at the trailer, with his dad who promised he was on the straight and narrow, and he had his best and oldest friend back. His life wasn’t perfect – there was still resentment between him and his father and he missed his mom and his sister everyday – but things were looking up. And he knew why.

He hadn’t ever looked at her that way before. Objectively, he knew she was pretty and sweet and loyal to a fault, but Betty Cooper had never been anything more than a friend. She wasn’t attainable – not for a guy like him – and he didn’t want to set himself up to fail; he knew she loved Archie.

(Until he does. Until he decides to a risk and places his hands against the soft skin of her throat and kisses her softly, so soft, that he thinks it might be a dream.

But then she is smiling, plush lips stretched against his, and he knows it’s so much better than any dream.)

Betty had been a surprise but it’s the best one he’s ever had. They’ve found each other, drawn to each other during their times in need, and he feels lucky to have her by his side, to be trusted by someone as beautiful as her. There is tension at home and money is still tight, but when he lies back and thinks of her everything doesn’t seem so bad.

(Plus, her mom might be a little crazy but Alice Cooper sure knew how to make a good breakfast.)

 

 

 

For the first time in his life, Jughead has no appetite.

His friends file into Pop’s trying to get him to talk but it is all white noise. They have betrayed him, gone behind his back and lied to his face.

(Betty hurts the most; the girl he’s pretty sure he’s fallen in love with.)

His mom doesn’t want him. His dad has been arrested. He has no one he can trust.

The trailer is a mess – furniture broken and strewn everywhere – but he has nowhere else to go. He can’t return to the Andrews, not any more, and there’s no way he could go to Betty’s. Her mother wouldn’t let him in anyway.

He retreats to his bedroom, face stiff and swollen from crying. He tears off his beanie and lies down on his old bed; curls up in the sheets still fully-dressed, in a suit that he wore to impress his girl but now seemed dumb and uncomfortable, physical proof that he was fooling himself.

He was so happy for the first time in so long. And now it was over, shattered before it had even really begun.

 

 

  
Vulnerability is not his strong suit. He wears the same hat everyday for God’s sake, like some kind of security blanket that will shield him from emotions and situations he isn’t prepared to deal with.

But he can’t wear the beanie around her, not in this moment. Not when he has something so important to say.

“I love you, Betty Cooper.”

His voice cracks with raw emotion and his heart clenches in anticipation and nervousness; then clenches for a whole different reason when she turns around, a beautiful smile on her lips.

She closes the space between them, green eyes bright as she replies, “Jughead Jones, I love you.”

The rest is a blur of love and sheer want; her body in his arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, his lips against hers and then the slope of her neck. He is completely lost in her, a hunger of a new kind taking over as he stands between her parted legs, her thighs wrapped tight around his waist.

His hand slides down her waist, ready to descend, to touch her where he thinks she’ll be warm and wet, but then there’s a noise and it’s all over.

He has no idea who is at the door.

 

 

 

 

 

17.

He’s just wants to belong, wants to have a place he can call home. Even if it is a biker bar on the Southside of town.

He throws himself into the gang life wholeheartedly, taking hit after hit and facing the challenges that come his way. This is his life now; this is where he needs to be.

The people he loves will never understand. Archie can only see the bad – the drug deals and the disposing of a teenage boy’s body. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be taken under their wing, to feel like you’re not just a poor kid who’s dad is in jail and who’s mother didn’t want him.

And Betty. Sweet Betty who is all that is good in his fucked up world. She tries to understand but she doesn’t, not really. This isn’t some greaser fantasy, aesthetically pleasing and fun like the movies. This is serious business, stuff that he knows, deep down, he isn’t ready to get swept up in.

She figures that out eventually.

In the morning, she sends his best friend to break up with him, destroying the last light he has in his life. In the evening, he is bloody and bruised, kissing a girl that isn’t her and wishing it was.

 

 

  
It’s not until he leaves her, stranded in the Whyte Wyrm parking lot, and is cutting into a women’s flesh with a blade, that he realizes just how far he’s gone.

He is truly down the rabbit hole and he can’t see a way out.

 

 

 

(His dad wasn't right about many things but he had been right about Betty.

"You've got something good here, with her..."

Those words swirl around his head over and over again. He doesn't know how he's ended up here.)

 

 

  
She stays.

She is in his lap, above him, too-pretty in her pink dress, telling him she wants him, all of him, tonight.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this; this woman is his arms, stunning and soft and in love with him, willing to forgive him and be by his side again.

When he pushes inside of her, her face twisted up in discomfort, he feels terrible all over again until she smiles down at him, hands wrapped around his neck. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt and it’s over too quick. The movement of her body, her softness pressed against him, the whispers that leave her mouth when it starts to feel good.

"I love you," he gasps against her neck as he comes, and he really, truly means it.

All of his thoughts are consumed by her, her, her.

 

 

  
The following day they go to Pop’s for breakfast. Betty is smiling and soft, a brightness in her eyes he’s never seen before. His chest feels warm at the thought that he has put that brightness there.

She kisses him in the booth, sits on his side so she can press herself against him. It’s inappropriate, this display of affection, lips and tongues and wandering hands, but he doesn’t care. He only pulls away when his burger arrives, and to his surprise, he feels reluctant. He eats with one hand, the other wrapped around hers.

 

 

 

 

  
18.

He’s finally found something he wants more than food.

“Jug,” she moans, low and throaty, head thrown back as he fucks her into the mattress, desperate and needy.

They are alone in her house, just the two of them in her room, sweaty and breathless as they move together under her pink, floral sheets.

It isn’t just the sex. It’s sex with _her_. Betty, Betty, Betty. He can never get enough.

He used to think himself better than Archie, no slave to his desires and unable to keep his hands off his girlfriend. But that was before; before he had seen Betty naked, and explored her body, and pushed inside of her, and kissed the warmth between her legs.

He was addicted, the very definition of a horny teenage boy, and he thanked his lucky starts that she seemed to feel the same way.

 

 

 

 

  
19.

Their sophomore year of college, they rent their first apartment. A tiny one-bedroom in Washington Heights with a living room and kitchen that are basically the same space, and a metal fire escape that Jughead thinks is the best feature of the whole apartment.

It is small but it’s theirs, and they love it.

(They got out of that godforsaken town.)

They both have jobs, part-time work at coffee shops that they schedule around their classes – Jughead at NYU and Betty at Columbia. Money is tight but it’s the price they pay for living and studying in New York and they are both learning to deal with it. The important thing is they’re happy and they’re together, and there’s no one else he wants to learn to navigate adult life with.

 

 

 

Two months after they move in, Toni crashes at their apartment.

There is no bad blood between her and Betty anymore. In fact, they would even consider themselves friends, delighting in any chance to make fun of Jughead together. So when she tells him she’s coming to the city and _can she crash on his couch?_ he doesn’t hesitate to say yes. It’s only for a month and she’s coming here to make her dreams of being a photographer a reality. He’s not going to stand in the way of that.

They hang out a lot. Betty works during the day while a lot of his shifts are at night, so between classes he has plenty of time to see Toni. It’s fun, wandering around the city with a girl he’s come to consider one of his best friends. He hopes she finds a place of her own and decides to stay. It would be nice to see her more often.

 

 

  
A few weeks later, Jughead starts feeling sick. His mood is low, he’s bloated, he always feels tired and he loses his usually out-of-control appetite.

“You sure you’re not pregnant?” Toni jokes, earning a snicker from Veronica.

He glares at her. “No. And this isn’t funny. I feel like shit.”

Betty arrives home then, takes one look at him, and immediately presses her hand against his forehead.

“Well you don’t have a fever but God, Jug, you really don’t look good.”

His smile is sardonic. “Thanks, Betts. Any other compliments you wanna throw my way?”

She rolls her eyes and drops into his lap, one arm resting around his shoulders. She brushes his hair back from his face – the beanie rarely came out of his dresser drawer these days – eyes flickering over his pale, sickly complexion. The gesture feels nice, comforting.

“You need to go to the doctor,” she orders.

“No, I’m fine. I’ve just got the flu or something.”

“Maybe it has something to do with you eating every disgusting snack you can get your hands on,” Toni suggests.

“What?” he protests. “That’s not true.”

Betty sides with Toni. “It kind of is, Jug.”

“Last week I watched you eat five doughnuts before we went to get a deep-pan pizza,” Veronica adds. “That’s not normal.”

Jughead huffs, face falling. There was a possibility that his diet wasn’t helping him but he’d always eaten this way, ever since he was a kid. His appetite has always been larger than most and his metabolism had always been high enough to combat all of the bad food he ate.

But Jughead is no longer sixteen years old.

Betty places her hand against his cheek, turns his face until he meets her eye.

“They’re only teasing because they care.” She rubs her thumb across his cheekbone. “Make an appointment, Juggie.”

 

 

  
The diagnosis is shocking. Jughead can hardly believe it. He enters the apartment, slams the door shut behind him.

“I have scurvy.”

Betty spins away from the stove, mouth dropping open. Then she laughs, “What?”

“I’m lacking in vitamin C, otherwise known as scurvy.” He walks over to her, runs a hand across his face. “This is crazy.”

“I didn’t know people outside of the eighteenth century could even get scurvy.”

Jughead snorts. “Me neither.”

“So what’s the solution? How do you treat it?”

“The doctor said the symptoms are mild so I need to get a handle on it before it gets any worse. Basically, I need to eat fruit and vegetables.”

She smiles sympathetically. “No Ramen and Lucky Charms for a little while then?”

“I guess.” He groans, reaches out for her and pulls her close. His forehead falls against her shoulder. “I can’t believe this has finally caught up with me. I thought I had at least another decade of eating whatever I wanted.”

Betty giggles, strokes the hair at the back of his head.

“I know, baby. I did, too.”

He pulls away, eyes flickering over to the big pot on the stove.

“What’s that?”

“I’m making soup. Want some?”

It’s delicious, warm and thick and flavorful. There are vegetables in the broth and a little bit of spice, and Jughead groans as he bites into a slice of carrot. He thinks his body might actually be missing vegetables.

“That was so good, Betts. How did you get so good at cooking?”

She shrugs, chin cradled in her hand. “My mom taught me the basics and then I experimented with different recipes. It’s fun.”

He’s not sure if that’s strictly true – cooking always seemed like a chore – but he knows he needs to make some changes. He wanted to live a good life, a long life, with Betty. And if he was going to do that, he needed to start eating better.

“Hey, Betts? Do you think you could teach me how to cook?”

She grins. “Of course, Juggie. I’d love to.”

 

 

 

 

 

25.

She had found him on Facebook. He had almost forgotten he had an account - a leftover from his college days, used as a way to keep in touch with all of the new people he was meeting - and had only checked it at random when Archie told him about some events that were going on in the city. He had opened it, scrolled through his notifications quickly, and then noticed he had three friend requests. One had been sent three months ago.

Jellybean Jones. Now nineteen and, according to her profile, living in Rhode Island.

He stares at her profile picture for a long time. It's definitely her - the shape of her nose and the blue of her eyes is still familiar to him, in an adult's face now instead of a child's. She has short pink hair and a piercing through her nose, and the Black Flag t-shirt she's wearing looks a lot like one their dad used to own.

He takes a deep breath and clicks accept. In the morning, he has a message.

 

 

 

They meet in a diner downtown.  Her eyes are wide and bright, and there's black lipstick on her lips. Her boots are heavy and clunky and her hair is a mess, and she's somehow exactly what he thought adult Jellybean would be like yet also so different.

"So... where are you going to school?" he asks when they have got the awkward introductions out of the way and have ordered some food.

"Rhode Island School of Design," she replies. "I'm an Illustration major."

He raises his eyebrows, impressed. "Wow. That's really cool."

"Yeah, I love it. What did you major in? You went to NYU, right?"

"Yeah, graduated a few years ago. I studied English Lit. I wanna be a writer."

She grins, eyes lighting up. "Awesome! Fiction or non-fiction?"

"Fiction," he answers, feeling encouraged by her enthusiasm. "I've, uh, been working on a book of short stories."

"That's so cool. You'll have to let me know when you get published," she says matter-of-factly, as if that is a given.

The waitress arrives with their drinks - two black coffees. They have some things in common.

"Do you live in Manhattan?"

He shakes his head. "Brooklyn, now. Sunset Park."

"Do you live there alone, with friends?" she asks, clearly prying. She wouldn't have been able to get much information from his Facebook - he didn't put much on there.

"I live with my girlfriend," he answers. "Betty. We've been together since we were sixteen."

She gasps, then smiles. "High school sweethearts! That's so sweet. What's she like? Do you have a picture?"

"She's the best. So smart. She's a journalist, free-lancing at the moment."

Jughead feels a little embarrassed as he pulls out his phone and gets up a picture of he and Betty on vacation in Mexico last year.

"She's beautiful," Jellybean comments, smiling at the picture. She looks up at him, smirks. "You did good, Jug."

He chuckles, rubs at the back of his neck. "Uh, thanks."

The waitress brings over their food - a grilled cheese and fries for him and blueberry pancakes for Jellybean. He watches her grab the maple syrup and pour it over the pancakes until her food is basically drowning in it.

"You've still got the Jones appetite," he comments, amused.

She shrugs, cutting into one of her pancakes. "I love to eat."

Maybe they were more similar than he could have imagined.

He takes a bite of his grilled cheese and contemplates what he is going to ask her as he chews. He has questions - he needs her to fill in the blanks for him. He starts with the easiest one.

"Where did you and Mom end up living? I called Grandma before graduation - I wanted to invite you both - but she had said you weren't living with her anymore, and she didn't know where you had gone."

She sighs. "Yeah, we, um... We moved a lot. Grandma didn't agree with how mom handled our whole... situation. So she moved us to another town. And then we kept moving - from state to state, until mom found a job that paid well."

"That must have sucked," he says. "Never staying in one place."

She shrugs. "I got used to it. Starting at a new school again and again became pretty easy."

He doesn't think he would have handled that lifestyle well. He was an introverted teenager - was sometimes an introverted adult - and he would have struggled to make friends. He thinks Jellybean is different to him in that way - she seems very open and outgoing, from the way she talks to the way she looks. He admires that.

"Did you..." He trails off, swallows. "Did you ever try to contact me?"

"I wanted to," she answers. "I really did. But I wasn't allowed Facebook until I was seventeen and then when I finally found you, it didn't seem like you posted much. When I went to college I decided to add you anyway and hope for the best. We only live a few hours apart now. It seemed like the right time."

He nods. "And Mom? Did she ever want to contact me?"

Jellybean's eyes look sad as she says quietly, "She wanted to, Jug. I know she did. But after Dad got arrested and she told you not to come... She felt guilty. I think she believed you'd hate her and wouldn't want to see her."

"I would have," he replies. "I never stopped missing you guys."

"I told you she should contact you. I said you'd still want to see us, but I guess she just gave up." She suddenly reaches out, places her hand over his. "I know it's horrible and I'm not trying to defend her but - she was in a bad place. For a long time. She's only just gotten the help she needs. I don't think she was capable of fixing your relationship then. Or at least, it wouldn't have been a good one."

There is a weariness in Jellybean's voice that makes his heart break and it's then that he sees another way in which they are the same. He had always assumed that she got the better end of the deal, that living with their mother was preferable to their father. But their mom had her own problems - issues that he thinks have always been there, lingering in the background of his childhood memories. His dad wasn't easy either, but who knows if he would have been any better off with his mother. Jellybean seemed fine now but he can see that she's had some tough times.

"I wish we had each other through all of that," he admits. "My life in Riverdale wasn't all that great either. It would have been so much better if you had been around."

She smiles, small and sad. "I know. I wish it had been like that, too."

Before they part ways - before she makes the three hour drive back to Rhode Island - Jellybean gives him a piece of paper with his mother's phone number written on it.

"She's living in Cleveland now. I think she'd really love to hear from you." She wraps her arms around him and squeezes him tight. She smiles when she pulls back. "Call me when you have a free weekend. I wanna come back to the city, see the sights. And meet Betty!"

He grins. "I will, I promise. She wants to meet you, too."

 

 

 

He watches her walk away until she is out of sight and then crosses the street. There is a small collection of benches there, completely empty, and Jughead takes a seat as he pulls out his phone. He holds up the paper and types his mother's phone number into the keypad. She answers after the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey... Mom?"

There is a pause, and her voice sounds high and breathless as she says, "Jughead?"

He smiles. It was so good to hear her voice. "Yeah, Mom. It's me."

"Oh, Jug," she sighs and he can hear the emotion in her voice, the threat of tears. "It's so good to hear from you, baby."

"How are you doing?" he asks. 

"I'm okay. How are you? How's everything going?"

"I'm good, things are good." His voice is lower as he admits, "I've missed you, Mom."

Her can hear her smile as she says, "I've missed you, too. And I'm... I'm so sorry, Jug. I know it might not mean much, but I am."

"I know you are," he says softly, because he believes it.

He doesn't think his mother set out to hurt him. She was just trying to get by, to make it through life when things got really rough. Still, understanding doesn't make it hurt any less.

"I'm gonna go, okay? It's late and my girlfriend is probably waiting up for me."

"Oh. Okay." She sounds disappointed. "Well call me again if you want to talk. I'm always here, baby."

Yeah, except when she hadn't been.

"I will," he promises anyway. "Take care of yourself, Mom. I'll take to you soon."

The call ends and he slumps down on the bench. He reaches up to scrub a hand across his face and is surprised when he feels moisture on his cheeks. He hadn't even noticed he was crying. 

He pulls his phone out again and makes another call. She answers right away.

"Betts..." His voice cracks on her name. "I just spoke to my mom."

 

 

 

 

 

26.

The first set of reviews are good, really good. The second set – not so much.

Betty finds him at one in the morning, sat on the sofa with a pint of cookie dough ice cream in his hands. Only a third of it remains, the other two eaten hastily in shame and sadness.

She rubs at her eyes as she pads into the living room.

“Juggie? Are you coming to bed?”

She looks adorable in one of his t-shirts and a pair of thick grey socks but even her cuteness isn’t enough to get him out of his funk.

He pulls the spoon from his mouth. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

She frowns, taking the ice cream from his hands.

“Jug!” she yells when she peers inside. “I bought this yesterday and now it’s all gone!”

“That’s not true,” he protests weakly. “There’s some left at the bottom.”

She purses her lips together, one eyebrow cocked.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I’ll buy some more.”

She catches his hand in hers and leans down to kiss his cheek.

“It’s late. Come to bed,” she murmurs.

He can’t sleep right now, too preoccupied with his thoughts, the printed criticisms like a mantra in his head. But he follows anyway. He never wants to disappoint her.

 

 

  
Two weeks later, more reviews have been posted online – some good, some not so – and Jughead’s stress-eating has become a habit.

He thinks he’s being discreet, only eating his unhealthy snacks when Betty’s gone to bed and putting the empty wrappers in his desk drawer. But then he notices he’s gaining weight, shirts that have fit him since he was a teenager now a little too snug, and his pants more fitted than they were when he bought them.

He has stopped taking care of himself and Betty notices.

“What is this?” she demands, pulling open his desk drawer.

Inside lies foil chocolate bar wrappers and empty bags of chips – a treasure trove of his shame. After his health scare in college he’s been so careful with his diet, eating healthily in the week and treating himself on the weekends. But this, the mess inside his drawer, was proof that he was losing some control.

“I’m sorry, Betts. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I can’t seem to stop eating this shit.” He lifts up his shirt, running his hand over his stomach. “And look! I’m getting fat.”

Betty sighs and wraps her arms around his waist, pulling him against her.

“Jug, I don’t care if you’re a hundred and fifty pounds or four hundred. I just want you to be happy.” Her eyes soften. “What’s going on, Jug? Why are you suddenly eating like this?”

He blows out a harsh breath, preparing to admit the truth.

“I’m not a good writer,” he confesses. “My short stories – they haven’t been well-received. And it’s because I’m a shitty writer. I’m not cut out for this at all.”

“You know that’s not true,” she argues. “Yeah, you got a few bad reviews, but most of them were great. You can’t fixate on the bad stuff.”

“But nobody cares about the good reviews. The scandal is in the criticism – that’s the stuff people remember.”

“So go against the mould. Be the person that cares about the good reviews,” she retorts. “You are a good writer, Jug. And I’m not just saying that because I love you. Many people agree with me. Even the New York Times.”

A smile slowly forms on his face. She was so good to him.

“Thank you,” he says softly and leans down to kiss her.

She smiles when he pulls away. “Anytime.”

 

 

  
He calls Archie and asks for his help. He wanted to shed some pounds, get a handle on this little habit of his, and he knew he was the motivation he needed. Archie was the fittest guy he knew.

They go running twice a week in Central Park. Sometimes they hit up a park in New Jersey but it’s not quite as impressive, so Archie usually makes the journey from his home to the city on a Wednesday evening and a Sunday morning.

Jughead doesn’t think he’s ever hated anything as much as he hates running but the weight is already falling off of him and he does feel much better for it.

“Man, I love running on a cold morning. Really gets your blood pumping.”

Jughead looks up at Archie, hands still pressed against his knees as he tries to catch his breath. His eyes narrow.

“You’re fucking inhuman. You know that, right? I mean, this–“ He waves at Archie’s muscular form, “is not normal.”

Archie just laughs and slaps him on the back.

“Come on, Jug. Another lap and you can go home.”

 

 

  
Betty slides into her side of their bed and presses herself up against him. They had a bigger bed now – their new apartment had so much more space than their old Washington Heights one-bed or their studio in Chinatown – but she still snuggled up next to him, as close as she could get.

“Are you still reading the reviews?” she asks, tone colored with disapproval.

“Nope. Just emailing my publisher. She’s interested in another book. The sales did pretty well.”

“See.” She rolls over, resting her chin on his chest. “I told you you were great. People love your book.”

He smiles. “I guess.”

“Do you ever think about publishing the book you wrote in high school?”

His brow furrows as he thinks about his _In Cold Blood_ pastiche that documented the highs and lows of their little hometown. He has it on a hard drive somewhere but he hasn’t looked at it in years.

“I haven’t. I really haven’t thought about that in years, but... now that you’ve mentioned it, I kind of want to.”

She smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I’m sure it’s great. Just like everything else you write.”

His face is so honest, so full of affection, and he knows that she means every word she’s saying. He brushes a lock of hair from her face, tucks it behind her ear, skims the backs of his fingers across her cheek. She was so beautiful. He’d never understand what he did to deserve her.

His mind wanders to the little black box sitting, hidden, in the back of his dresser drawer. He’d had it for a month now, debating over whether it was too soon and if they were ready.

As he looks at her sleepy, pretty face in the soft light of his bedside lamp, he knows for sure. He is ready.

 

 

 

 

  
28.

Jughead hasn’t eaten anything all morning. He can see the concern on Archie and Sweet Pea’s faces, watching him warily, as if he’s going to flip out or maybe even run.

They don’t get it. He isn’t eating because he’s nervous and it’s not because he’s getting cold feet. It’s just, weddings are _a lot_. There’s so many people, so much to remember, so much responsibility. He’s not sure he’s up to the job and he wants, more than anything, for this day to be perfect for Betty.

His dad knocks on the door, dressed in his grey groomsmen suit. He is smiling, face clean-shaven and eyes clear and happy.

“Hey, Jug. There’s someone here to see you.”

 

 

  
He feels his heart lurch as he sees her.

“I can’t believe you came,” he says, immediately throwing his arms around her and burying his face in her hair.

He hasn’t seen his mother in three years. The last time he saw her had been a month after his dinner with Jellybean. He had been so mad that night, irrational anger fuelled by repressed memories and thoughts being brought to the surface again, but he knew he had to let it go. It wasn't going to change anything and he wanted to share his life with his mother; he wanted her to be proud of what he had achieved.

He had called her three days after that first call and told her he wanted to see her. Six week later, he had flown to Cleveland with Betty and introduced his mother to the woman he hoped to marry. They had video-chatted since – almost every week – and he saw Jellybean all the time who gave him further updates, but it wasn’t the same as having her there with him. Especially now, when he and Betty were actually getting married.

Gladys smiles up at him, her hand cupping his cheek. “You look so handsome, baby.”

“Alright, alright. I want some love, too,” Jellybean demands.

She wraps him up in a hug, squeezing him tight. “I can’t believe you’re gonna be someone’s husband, Jug.” She pulls back to grin at him. “Glad to see you’re finally locking that down.”

He snorts, ruffles her pink hair, much to her disgust.

“Well I had to do it some time before she realized she could do better.”

Jellybean rolls her eyes. “You’re almost thirty. The self-deprecating thing is getting old now.”

His family was still complicated. His parents were now divorced but finally on good terms, his relationship with his mother and father would always be slightly strained for different reasons, and three years ago he had taken the time to get to know his sister again, as the child he remembered was not the woman in front of him.

Regardless, he was happy they were all here. His family was a mess but they were _his_ mess, and it was important to him that they witnessed him marrying the love of his life.

 

 

  
All of his nerves disappear as soon as she is standing in front of him, a vision in a white dress and a delicate lace veil.

They exchange their vows, slide on their rings, the ceremony short and sweet as they had requested. And then, after they finally say “I do” and they have been declared man and wife, Jughead takes her face between his palms and kisses her soundly.

They smile against each other’s lips, giddy and in love. When they pull away her eyes are shining with tears and her smile is so beautiful it almost hurts to look at and _fuck_ , he did that. He made Betty Cooper his wife.

Jughead can’t recall a prouder moment in his life.

 

 

 

 

 

31.

He knows _he_ isn’t ‘eating for two’ but that doesn’t stop him.

After the initial excitement, then the nerves and exhaustion surrounding the first trimester, Betty’s stomach grows hard and round and it really looks like there’s a baby growing in there. Their baby.

And Jughead’s mind implodes.

It is four years ago all over again, Jughead eating his feelings and hiding the evidence in a box in his wardrobe. But this time it’s different. He knows why he’s doing it, and he’s finding it hard to admit to it. He didn’t want to share his struggles and doubts with Betty because it felt selfish and wrong. She was the one who had to face the trials and challenges of carrying their child. He didn’t want to burden her with his anxiety.

Still, he couldn’t let go of these niggling thoughts – thoughts that told him he would end up just like his father. Devoted to his children, but never knowing how to show that love in the right way.

 

 

  
He turns to Jellybean for support. She was straight-talking, no-nonsense, and would tell him if he was acting like a tool. As soon as he tells her he’s nervous about being a bad father, she laughs, loudly, disturbing other patrons in the coffee shop.

“Jug! Of course you are. I think every first time parent is.”

“I know, but... most of those people didn’t have our parents as an example.”

Jellybean sighs. “True, but you can’t let that define you. So many people have bad childhoods and they still become great parents themselves. You just have to want that.”

“I do,” he is quick to respond. “I want to be the best dad I can be. I’m just not sure how to do that.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Jellybean assures him easily. “And you have Betty, too, and she’s not gonna let you screw this up. She’ll figure this out with you.”

Jughead nods. She’s right, he and Betty would help each other. And he would be there for her, in any way he could, because she would need a support system and he wanted to be that for her. It was something his mother had been sorely lacking when he and his sister had been born.

Jellybean reaches for his hand across the table. “You’re a good person, Jug. And you’ve got your shit together, which our parents never did.” She smiles. “That baby is gonna love you so much you won’t be able to handle it.”

A smile pulls at his lips, unbidden.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now go home and talk to your wife. You should tell her how you’re feeling.”

He leaves the coffee shop feeling considerably lighter and ready for a conversation with Betty.

 

 

  
“Hey,” she smiles when she walks into the apartment.

She shrugs out of her coat, revealing the huge bump beneath, and places her hands against the bottom of her back as she approaches the couch.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, running his palm across her belly.

“Okay. She’s been moving a lot today and my back is hurting. But nothing I can’t handle.” She brushes some of his hair back, fingers tangling in the waves as she often liked to do. “How was your day? How was Jellybean?”

“She was good. We had a good talk, actually.”

“Oh, yeah? Care to share?”

“Uh, yeah. There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” He licks his lips, eyes falling to his lap, nerves kicking in. Could he tell her his fears without worrying her? “We were talking about the baby, and how... how I’m not feeling all that confident. About being a dad.”

“Okay,” Betty says gently. “And what did she say?”

“That I was being stupid. That all first-time parents feel like this and that I wasn’t like my mom and dad. I didn’t have to repeat their mistakes.”

“She’s right,” she murmurs, hand now cupping his face. She turns his chin until he looks at her, meets her eye. “You’re not your parents, Juggie. And neither am I. We don’t have to be like them.”

“I know that. But don’t you worry? That it’ll happen anyway?”

“I did,” she admits. “The first few months I was terrified and all I could think about was how I was going to hurt our child the way my parents hurt me. And some of those feelings still pop up, occasionally, but I feel so much better now.”

“Why?”

“Our parents never loved each other the way they were supposed to.” She smiles. “But I have you. And you have me. We’re love each other and we’re doing this together, and we love this baby, too. I can see it in your eyes, every time you look at me or put your hand on my belly.”

His lips twitch into a small smile. “I do. I do love her.”

She pulls his hand against the curve of her stomach again, lying her hand on top of his.

“We’re gonna make mistakes, Jug. It’s inevitable. But I’m okay with that if I’ve got you by my side. Because I know you’ll help me, and I’ll help you.”

His thumb strokes her belly as he feels light movement beneath his hand. They had just over a month before she would arrive, before their lives would change, and while it still scared the shit out of him, he couldn’t wait to meet her. This little combination of him and Betty.

“I love you,” he murmurs, eyes stinging with emotion as he looks at her beautiful face.

The cliches were all true. Women really did glow.

“I love you, too,” she replies, the way she always does.

He closes the space between them and kisses her soundly.

 

 


	3. pride

_they say one door open when another door close_  
_i'm prayin' that's that way that it goes_  
_because right when i'm 'bout to turn the door knob_  
_it seems it's all locked up and the key decomposed_  
_remind me this the life that i chose_  
_go full speed, i can't read, the signs that say stop_

  
_i brush it off and try to act all nonchalant_  
_i notice everything, i just act like i don't_  
_boy, i know what i want_

 

 

8.

Josie is running at him before the door has even closed shut.

"Daddy!"

Myles places his suitcase and his saxaphone case on the floor before holding out his arms, a huge smile on his face.

"My little Jojo." He presses his smile against her hair as she throws her arms around his neck. "How are you, baby?"

She pulls back to smile at him. "I'm okay, Daddy. I'm so happy you're home."

He carries his bags into the living room and greets his wife with a kiss. He then opens up his suitcase, searching through the contents until he finds a thin, square package. He holds it up for Josie to see.

"Got a present for you."

He pulls the record from the sleeve and places it onto the record player in the corner of the room. He drops the needle into the groove and music begins to filter into the room.

"This is Nina Simone," he tells her. "One of the greatest singers that has ever lived."

Her voice is deeper than any woman's she has heard before and the melody is fun and bouncy, a lot happier than the jazz her daddy usually plays for her. She begins to dance around the living room, much to the delight of her father, who scoops her up into his arms and begins to sing.

She picks up the chorus quickly, sings along to the parts she can remember as her daddy twirls her around. Nina sings _my baby just cares for me_ , and her mother smiles as she watches them, happier than she has been in weeks. 

 

 

 

Her mother doesn't cry when he leaves again - not any more - but Josie does, tears tracking down her cheeks as he stands at the door, bags in hand.

"I'll be back before you know it, Jojo. Now take care of your mama for me." He kisses her cheek and smoothes away a tear with his thumb. "I love you."

She sniffles and hugs him tight. "I love you, too."

Her mother wraps her arm around her as soon as he is gone and when she looks up at her she sees the sadness in her eyes. She doesn't cry anymore but she doesn't need to.

She smiles down at her. "Lets go get some ice cream, honey. I think we deserve it, don't you?"

 

 

 

 

 

14. 

Her vocal coach grins, pleased. "That was great, Josie. You're really reaching those high notes."

His praise sends warmth blooming in her chest. She tips her chin up, unable to stop the self-satisfied smile from forming on her face.

"I think you're definitely ready for your competition," he comments, collecting up the sheet music in front of her. "Make sure you do your warm-ups and try not to strain your voice."

She nods. It's all advice she's received before but she's grateful for the reminder. The state-wide competition was in two weeks and she was taking any help she could get.

 

 

 

The week leading up to the competition is tough. Val and Melody come to her house everyday after school, practicing in her bedroom until their parents arrive to force them home. Even then, they sit in their own rooms, rehearsing lyrics and working on their pitch.

Her mother tries to be supportive - offering encouragement and paying a crazy amount of money for her lessons - but Josie can't help but wish her father was here. He knows music, has an ear for it. He could give her constructive critcism, could help her improve her performance and tell her what an audience is really looking for.

But he isn't here. He is across the country, playing in New Orleans, too busy to answer her calls right away.

He calls her back two night before the competition, after a particularly long practice with the girls.

"You need something special, baby. Something that will make you memorable," he tells her, his voice clear over the noise she can hear behind him. "But you don't need to worry. I know you're gonna blow the judges away."

She smiles at his words but they don't completely alleviate her anxiety.

"Are you sure you can't make it, Daddy?" she asks quietly, unable to mask her hope.

He sighs heavily through the receiver. "I'm sorry, Jojo. You know I can't."

And just like that, any confidence his words gave her disappears.

 

 

 

"We need something that's going to make us stand out," she tells the girls the following day.

"Like _what_?" Val asks, frowning. "We're an all-female band, not to mention girls of color. Isn't that enough?"

"Black excellence is only going to get us so far," she replies. "We're special. We need the judges to see that."

Josie has the suggestion but not the answers and they turn up to the competition in New Jersey with nothing new to offer. They're still great - she knows that without a doubt - but lots of people are great. They needed a brand, something significant.

They get up on stage and sing their version of  _Say A Little Prayer_ better than they've ever sang it before. Josie can't stop smiling after they've finished their performance. They were on point - their vocals, their harmonies, their choreography. She catches her mother's eye before they leave the stage and she is smiling, proud, on her feet as she claps for them.

Beside her is an empty chair, one they had reserved for her father months ago.

Josie shakes off her sudden disappointment as they walk backstage - it wasn't like she had expected him to surprise her - and wraps Val and Melody into a group hug.

"We were awesome!" she squeals. She presses her cheek against Melody's. "I love you guys."

 

 

 

They come second and Josie is crushed.

It is enough to qualify for the tri-state competition and they each receive a bouquet of flower's from the judges. Still, Josie can't help but stare longingly at their bouquet the winning girl receives, so much larger and more vibrant than her own. 

It should have been hers. The girl was good but she knew she was better, had more control of her voice and a better range. Josie notes the carefully selected dress and forties-style hairstyle the girl is wearing and decides that must be it. She had a brand - a Lana del Rey-esque look that made her look more accomplished than a teenage girl hoping to win a statewide singing contest.

Josie clutches her flowers tightly and forces a smile onto her face. Having a mask was important if she wanted to make it.

 

 

 

She is still drowning in her sorrows the following evening. She wears pajamas all day and eats unhealthy food and only leaves her bed when her mother makes her. At night, when she is tucked up in bed again, she hears her mother through the walls, talking to her father on the phone.

"She was wonderful, Myles, and you missed it. Yet _another_ thing you've missed." Her tone is short, angry. "Do you have any idea how you've made Josie feel?"

There is silence and then her mother yells, "Myles... are you _high_ , right now? Are you fucking serious?"

Josie's heart seizes in her chest as she think of a night not too long ago; her mother catching the first plane she could to Los Angeles, spending days at his bedside, her grandmother's low telephone calls with her that Josie listened to through the closed door, the words _cocaine_ and _overdose_ whispered over the line. 

She gets her headphones from her bedside table, connects them to her phone and plugs them into her ears. Seconds later, Billie Holiday's beautiful voice filters through, drowning out the sound of her mother's conversation.

 

 

 

"You need to move past this," Melody demands, perched on the end of the bed. "We did really good, Josie. Second place is still great."

"But it's not as good as first place," Josie retorts, folding her arms across her chest.

"Can you stop with the selfishness?" Val snaps, nostrils flaring as she glares at Josie from across the room. "Yeah, we didn't win. _We_. Not just you. And who even cares? We were awesome and we were _ourselves_. We didn't go up on that stage and impersonate some Hollywood pin-up. I think we should be proud of what we did."

Josie purses her lips, annoyed, and Melody's eye flicker between them, waiting for the ensuing fight to break out. After a moment of silence, Josie sighs heavily, whole body deflating.

"I know," she says quietly. "And I'm sorry for reacting like this. I just... I really thought we were gonna win."

"Me, too," Val replies softly, taking a seat beside Melody. "But we need to use this feeling to make us even better in the tri-state competition. We're gonna blow our competition in New York out of the water."

Josie smiles at her enthusiasm but it falls slightly as she remembers the winner, all dressed up like a '50s starlet throwback.

"We still need a brand. Something that will make us instantly recognizable."

"I might have something," Melody cuts in, smiling. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a headband with two furry, black cat ears. "What about these?"

Josie takes them from her, inspects them. "They're cute, but... what's the brand?"

She shrugs. "It could be our signature look and I was thinking, maybe we could change our name. We could be The Pussycats."

The name instantly sparks something within her and Josie's eyes slide over to meet Val's. She sees a similar bright look in her eyes.

"The Pussycats," she grins. "I love it."

 

 

 

 

 

16.

Under her father's advice, The Pussycats become _Josie and_  the Pussycats.

"It's got a better ring to it," he assures the girls. "Not as cheesy or childish."

They respect his opinion - Myles knew a lot about music and the business - and he was probably right, but there's another motivation there. They're all aware that he is just looking out for his daughter's best interests, but none of them say it.

They enter their sophomore year with a new band name and a new determination. The barrage of hate mail her mother receives after her victory only encourages her desire to show the town what they are capable of. They were strong women, women of color, and they weren't going to be discouraged that easily.

 

 

 

Her mother tells her Val can be replaced with someone skinny and beautiful but she doesn't understand that it isn't that easy. Val is more than pretty; she is a wonderful songwriter and a beautiful singer. She was the missing piece of the puzzle that was The Pussycats and she didn't want anyone else to try and fill her place.

Veronica is an easy temporary fix, but it isn't the same. She doesn't know these songs or their dynamic, and Josie can hardly focus on integrating her into the band properly when all she can think about is her father. She didn't have time for Veronica to be unfocused. They all needed to be at the top of their game.

But then she snaps at her, hurts her when she is already down, and Josie wonders if this is why Val really left. She could be so pre-occupied, so focused on her issues without considering anyone else's.

"Come on," she says, slipping her arm through Veronica's. "Lets go get some cheese fries."

 

 

 

Even after they sit and talk about their respective daddy issues, Josie can only think about how she needs to step up her game. Her father was missing two shows to see her sing and she wants so badly to convince him that the music she was making shouldn't be written-off as generic pop. She worked hard on her music - they all did - and she was proud of what they made.

 

 

 

Josie adjusts her ears in the mirror and gives herself a once-over. There is a brightness to her eyes that wasn't there an hour ago. She had her girl back, the voice that sounded so beautiful with her own, and she couldn't wait to get out on stage.

The music begins and as the lights brighten, she immediately finds her father in the audience. He is too far away for her to make out his expression so she tries to focus her attention on the performance.

They move through the choreography easily and their harmonies are perfect. She likes the way Veronica's soprano adds a new layer, and she can see the awe and joy on the faces in the front row. Her eyes wander across the audience and it is then that she notices the empty seat beside her mother. Pain immediately prickles at her throat, the sting that precedes tears, but Josie powers through, forcing herself to focus and not falter. She can feel Val's eyes on her - she has clearly noted her father's absence - but she refuses to look at her, at the risk of allowing her emotions to overwhelm her.

They close out the song and finish their choreography, turning away from the stage. The lights lower and the music fades out and Josie can't hear any of the applause, only the sound of her own quick breathing. She blinks rapidly, trying to stop the tears, and as soon as the stage is black and they can leave, Josie is marching away, ahead of the group.

"Josie!" Val calls, but she doesn't look back. She won't let them see her cry.

 

 

 

 

 

17.

"Pride cometh before the fall, Josie."

Melody's words ring in her ears as she leaves the locker room with Val. She understands their anger but she also knows they would do the same thing. She had an opportunity here, a chance to have a real career. They couldn't blame her for acting on it.

They would see, eventually. When they calmed down, they would understand. Because like Val said, they were sisters.

 

 

 

There's a killer on the loose, her girls don't want to talk to her, and she's pretty sure she's dealing with a stalker. So for one, brief moment Chuck Clayton is a welcome distraction.

And what a good distraction he is.

It's hard to remember how much of a jerk he once was when he's smiling at her, all charm and full lips and perfect bone structure, and telling her about his dreams of drawing comics. This isn't a date, she assures him, but she can't deny that it feels like one.

Her pulls her out of the booth and into his arms, and they dance to an old tune from the '50s in a diner from that same era. They do their best Mia and Vincent, twisting on the checkered floor, until his hands are on her waist and he's pressed flush against her. It feels so good, so damn  _fun_ \- she's missed having fun. She giggles, works her hips, moves with him as he spins them around and she can't remember the last time she felt this carefree.

Then her mother walks in and ruins everything.

"Josie! You're a damned fool," her mother accuses, Sheriff Keller trailing behind her.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

She is dragged away, Chuck disappointed and despondent as her mother hurls a warning at him and tells him to stay away.

 

 

 

(A few days later, she is glad for her mother's warning, Cheryl's accusations towards Chuck making her scared and upset. That night in Pop's had been so wonderful, a bright spot in the dark days they seemed to be living in, and it had all been some twisted manipulation. It hurts her heart that the one good thing she had has now been stripped away like everything else.)

 

 

 

(During their senior year she will accept Chuck's defense, will believe him when he says he didn't send those notes or the bears or the flowers. And she will believe him, and put that unsettling era behind her, and they will become friends. 

He is truly a different person - no longer a dumb sixteen year-old who wanted to exert power over girls - and part of Josie will always wonder if it weren't for Cheryl's assumptions, could they have been something more?)

 

 

 

There is never a fall - Josie continues to sing, to perform, to use the studio time - but there is loneliness. Josie misses being a part of the group, misses her girls, and she wants it back. A few months after their fight, she swallows her pride and pleads with Melody and Val to join her again.

"Separately, we're good, but together we're _amazing_ ," she tells them. "Don't you miss being together? Because I know I do."

With a little convincing, one becomes three again, Josie and the Pussycats return, and she finally feels at peace. Life had gotten tough without them and she was so happy to have them by her side again. Everything was right again, normal.

Expect, it wasn't.

 

 

 

She doesn't know what has happened but they're never quite the same. It feels so stupid, so childish, but she experiences a different kind of loneliness when they come back together. During their time apart, Melody and Val remained close, still best friends despite the missing piece. And Josie can't deny that she feels jealous.

Their reunion is bittersweet in that way. Melody and Val's accusations and her apparent abandoning of the group always linger in the back of their minds. She knows now that they think of her as stubborn and selfish and it is hard for her to accept. They don't see her as they used to and there is a closeness between them that is missing from her own relationships with them. She loves them but she's not sure they love _her_ anymore. Not in the same way.

 

 

 

Despite the new distance, they are still there for her when she needs them most.

She comes home early from school one day, feeling sick and miserable, and ready to tumble into her bed to sleep it off. She is surprised when she sees her mother's keys on the table and she is even more surprised when she hears her in her bedroom as well as another, much lower voice.

She rushes to the room, excitement coursing through her at the possibility of her seeing her father, but it all comes crashing down as soon as she enters.

"What the hell?!" she yells, eyes flickering frantically between her mother and a shirtless Sheriff Keller.

"Josie!" her mother screams in shock, shoving the Sheriff away from her. "What are you doing here, baby?"

"I'm sick," she responds quietly, then frowns. "What the fuck is going on, Mom?"

"Don't curse at me, Josephine," her mother snaps back. Behind her, the Sheriff hastily buttons up his shirt.

Josie scoffs. "Are you serious? I catch you making out with another man and _that's_ what you have to say to me?"

Her mother's gaze falls, ashamed and embarrassed, and Josie's stomach twists with more than sickness.

"Josie, maybe you should-"

Josie holds up her hand, cutting him off. " _Do not_ tell me what to do in my own home." She crosses her arms across her chest. "I think you should leave."

Sheriff Keller looks reluctant but leaves anyway, whispering to her mother that she should call him before he goes.

Her mom looks up and meets her eye, a single tear running down her cheek.

"I didn't want you to find out like this."

"I'm going to bed," Josie responds, voice devoid of emotion. "We can talk later."

She calls Val as soon as she is in her room, begins to cry as she tells them what she has just witnessed.

"How could she do this to my dad?" she cries. "He's on the other side of the country and she's here hooking up with someone else!"

"Do you want us to come over, babe? I don't think you should be alone right now."

Josie lips twitch up into a tiny smile. "Yeah, that would be really nice."

 

 

 

"Go talk to her," Melody murmurs before they leave, casting a sympahetic look at her mother who sits on the couch behind them. "We'll see you tomorrow."

She takes a seat in the armchair across from her mother. Her face is blotchy from crying, mascara smudged beneath her eyes.

"Josie, I'm so sorry," she says quietly. "I never meant for this to happen."

"How could you do this to do daddy? Don't you love him?"

Sierra sighs. "Of course I do, sweetheart. A part of me always will. But... there's a lot you don't know about your father. Being married to him hasn't always been easy."

Her own words come to the forefront of her mind; a conversation she had had with Veronica in Pop's two years before.

_I'm not saying that what your mom did was right, but maybe there's another side to the story. Maybe one worth hearing._

Josie thinks about the arguments she could hear through the walls when she was younger, the tears she would shed whenever her father left to go on tour again. He had hurt her so much over the course of her young life but he'd also hurt her mother. Somehow, she often forgot that.

"He doesn't make you happy, does he?" she asks softly.

"No," her mother admits. "He hasn't been around enough to make me happy in a long time."

"And Sheriff Keller?" Josie asks. "Does _he_ make you happy?"

"Yes," she answers, lips turning up into a smile. "He does." The smile quickly falls as she bursts into tears again, buries her face in her hands. "God, I've made such a mess of this."

"Oh, mama," Josie sighs, moving to the couch. She wraps her arms around her, allowing her mother to cry against her shoulder. "It's okay, we'll get through this. Together."

And they would. Josie wasn't going to be selfish, not now. They've all been dealing with her father's impact on their lives for too long.

 

 

 

 

 

18.

Despite their soon-to-be-finalized divorce, her parents buy her a joint eighteenth birthday present: studio time in New York.

She uses the first few hours quickly, recording songs that she wrote years ago, but saves the remaining hours for something special. She wanted to write something new and fresh, different from the more pop-inspired music she made as a sixteen year old.

Her trips to New York take up most of her weekends and her relationship with Melody and Val becomes even more fractured. They don't say it but she knows they are thinking about their fight in junior year, both girls feeling abandoned, left in the dust while Josie chases success and fame. She feels bad about the state of their friendship but she doesn't have much time to dwell on it. School was ending soon and she would out in the real world, trying to make a name for herself. She needed to take opportunities while she had them.

 

 

 

She submits applications to multiple schools but there is one that particularly excites her - Julliard. It would be so incredible, a dream come true. A degree from Julliard was proof that you had real talent, that you were better than the average artist. 

She writes a two-page essay on the moment she decided singing was her destiny - when she sang in church when she was ten, and the whole room seemed enraptured, amazed by the voice emanating from this little girl - and sends it with her transcripts, recommendations and pre-audition form. 

A few months later, she receives a letter containing the date and time of her audition and Josie is so elated she cries.

 

 

 

Some dreams just aren't meant to be.

 

 

 

"You have other options, baby," her mother reassures her, stroking her back as she curls up against her. "I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but Julliard isn't the end of your options. You can still make it on your own."

That night, she accepts her place at UCLA - if Julliard wouldn't have her, she would go where stars were born - and writes the best song she's ever written. All of her pain and rejection pours out, tears falling freely and staining the page as she scribbles lyrics across her notepad. She works on it all week, returning to it every evening to fix the hook or re-arrange the verses, and on the Sunday she decides it is finally finished. 

She returns to the studio the following weekend and uses her remaining hours to record her song and finish the demo. When she has completed CD she feels drained, exhausted. She was a mess after the rejection and channeling all of her anguish into writing and recording has taken an emotional toll. The finished product is cathartic; proof that she hasn't lost her fire and she still believes in herself, even if others don't.

 

 

 

Her final summer before college is a lonely one.

Her chance to reach out to Melody and Val and repair their relationship comes and goes, and Josie knows that things will never be how they once were. She occasionally hangs out with Veronica and Betty, but Veronica is often pre-occupied with Archie and their impending break-up. She knows that Archie thinks he is winning her over but she sees the wistful look in Veronica's eyes, the smiles that she can't quite manage.

She wasn't the only one having a tough summer.

In August, Cheryl comes home from college and throws a big party for this year's graduating class. She texts her and tells her to come, and Josie reluctantly agrees. She doesn't really want to go - going to a party solo wasn't fun - but she hasn't seen Cheryl in months and she's missed her.

When she arrives the party is already in full swing, music blasting from the speakers and drunk people yelling and dancing in Cheryl's large living room. She says 'hi' to some people as she passes them and quickly makes her way to the drinks table. She pours herself some of the punch, wincing at the sharp, strong taste, and wanders around the ground floor, in search of Cheryl.

She sees Veronica and Archie in the living room, Veronica in his lap as they aggressively make out on Cheryl's velvet sofa. She didn't want to interrupt _that_ situation, so she continues to move through the room. She sees Val and Melody out of the corner of her eye, stood in a corner as they chatted with Jughead, but she decides that isn't where she wants to be either. They probably didn't want her there anyway. As she nears the kitchen she can hear Chuck's infectious laugh, ringing loudly over the other noise in the room. She looks over in the direction of the sound and sees him surrounded by other former football players, drunk and obnoxious. He catches her eye and winks and she offers him a smile in return before turning away. She had no interest in hanging out with the jocks.

She eventually finds Cheryl on the back deck of her house, stood between Toni's parted legs as she sits on the fence surrounding the deck. They aren't kissing but they look close, heads pressed close together as they talk, ignorant to the people around them. She taps her on the shoulder, hesitant to break up them up, but Cheryl face lights up as soon as she turns.

"Josie!" She wraps her arms around her neck. "It's been so long! How are you?" She pulls back, holding onto her arms. "Do you have a drink? Do you need me to get you one?"

"No, no. It's okay, I have one," she says, raising her solo cup.

She notes the glassy look in Cheryl's eyes and the flush to her cheeks, and realizes she's already really drunk. Toni's arms snake around her waist and she whispers something into Cheryl's ear, making her giggle.

With a sigh, Josie takes Cheryl's hand. "I'm gonna go mingle but I just wanted to say hi. We should catch up while you're here. Call me!"

"Absolutely!" She grins and hugs her again. "See you later, babe."

Josie re-enters the house and heads back to the drinks table. She pours the contents of her almost untouched drink back into the punch bowl and throws the cup into the trashcan. With one last look out across the party, she sighs and turns to make her exit. When she checks the time on her phone, she sees she has spent a total of fifteen minutes inside.

There was nothing for her here, not anymore. She was well and truly ready to leave it behind.

 

 

 

 

 

20.

Josie moves to the east coast to attend UCLA with plans and goals in mind. She can attend school and be in the center of the music industry, the main reason UCLA had appealed to her. So while she isn't studying or attending classes, Josie is running around the city, submitting her CD to any record companies who are willing to take her demo.

She does this for three months, handing in CD after CD and hearing nothing. It is disheartening to say the least and she's truly learning the meaning behind _big fish in a small pond_. She had put so much time and energy into her demo, and she had been so proud of it, but the silence makes her feel terrible. Couldn't these people just give her a chance? She had talent. They would know that if they just listened.

Her dad - after much persuasion by her mother - had offered to pass it over to one of his connections but Josie didn't like that idea. It would increase her chances, for sure, but she didn't want to forge her career based on a favor from daddy. She was better than that. She could make it based on her talent alone.

During one of her excursions to an independent label downtown, Josie runs into someone she hasn't seen graduation. As slim and stunning as ever, braids so long they reach the small of her back, Val stands in the reception of the label's building with an air of confidence Josie had never seen during high school.

"Val?"

She turns, smiling brightly when she sees her. She immediately sweeps her into a hug.

"Josie! It's been forever." She pulls back. "What are you doing here? Are you working with the label?"

Josie considers lying, fabricating a story, but decides not to. She doesn't want to be caught out.

"Um, nope. Just dropping something off," she answers, holding up her CD.

"Oh, no way. Did you record something? Can I get a copy?"

"Uh, sure." She pulls another disc from her bag. "So what are you doing here? I didn't know you were in LA."

"I just moved here," she replies. "I was working for a label in New York and I co-wrote a song, and it was a hit. Then the offers started pouring in, loads of opportunities, and so here I am."

Josie feels something a lot like jealousy twist in her stomach but she pushes it down. She should be happy for Val and her early success. It didn't mean it wouldn't happen for her.

"That's amazing. I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks. Hey! We should go out for dinner. Are you free this week?"

They agree to meet up tomorrow evening and Josie hurries back to campus for her afternoon class. As she drives through the congested LA traffic, her thoughts continuously return to Val. It had only been less than two years since they graduated but what had remained of their relationship had fallen apart so quickly. How had that happened? They had been so close - all three of them - once upon a time they had meant so much to each other, yet they had drifted apart so easily.

 

 

 

They go to a vegan restaurant - Val's choice - and catch-up on what they have both missed.

"How's Melody? Do you guys still talk?"

"Oh, yeah. We Facetime, like, every week," she replies and Josie feels like she's been punched in the stomach. "She loves Med school. She's amazing. I'm so proud of her."

"Wow. That's so great." Josie is genuinely happy for her but she's not sure her smile reflects that.

"What about you? How are you enjoying UCLA?" 

She shrugs, staring down at her food as she picks at a piece of tofu. "It's okay," she answers. "It's not really what I want to be doing but I know having a degree is probably the best thing for me."

"Well, yeah, if you're going to use it. But you don't _have_ to go to college," Val argues. "Plenty of people achieve their goals without a college degree."

Josie falls quiet as she considers that. She wanted to enter an industry that was tough and cutthroat, and definitely didn't require a degree. But it was risky, too. There was no guarantee of success and it often felt like luck was the only thing that helped any artist.

"What if... What if the thing I want to be doing feels almost impossible to me right now?"

Val cocks an eyebrow. "Are you really telling me that, _you_ , Josephine McCoy, are having doubts about your talent?"

"No," she's quick to respond. "I know I'm good. But it's finding an _in_. I don't know how to enter the music business."

"There's so many ways to do it. I mean, I did an open mic night in Bushwick and this guy in the audience approached me afterwards and asked me if I had written my song. Turns out he was a producer and the next thing I know, I'm at a studio in Manhattan, helping SZA write her next song."

There it was again - the luck. What if there hadn't been a producer in the audience that night? Would Val still have made it?

"I guess that kind of thing just hasn't happened for me," she says, sighing. "It's hard, you know? I know what I want, without a doubt, but it just isn't happening for me."

"I dont know what's going on with you, babe, but this isn't the Josie that I grew up with," Val says. "You used to be so driven, kinda arrogant in your belief that you would be a star. But that's all gone now. And why? Because you've spent two years in LA and things haven't worked out the way you wanted them to?"

"I wasn't _arrogant_ ," Josie mutters, but she knows she's right.

"It doesn't have to be a bad thing," Val assures her. "Channel that arrogance, use it. You never know what might happen if you do."

 

 

 

Later that night, Josie submits an application for Julliard's next submission. 

Val was right. If she wanted to make her dreams a reality, she needed to take some chances. Julliard has been a dream of hers since she was a little girl and while producing music would be her ideal choice right now, there had been a time when she hadn't wanted anything more than Julliard. Studying music and honing her skills was something she longed to do. Creating music seemed so out of her reach these days but schooling - that was achievable. She wasn't about to let the chance slip through her fingers.

 

 

 

Josie's application is accepted but her audition fails. Again. She receives the rejection letter a few weeks later - the second she's received from Julliard now - and is sending it through the shredder before she even has time to shed any tears.

It was their loss, she tells herself. If they couldn't see her potential then they didn't deserve her.

(A prestigious school didn't have to believe in her. She would always believe in herself.)

 

 

 

She is leaving the college auditorium when a pink flyer catches her eye - AUDITIONS - WOMEN ONLY, AGE 18-25. She makes a note of the talent agency written beneath and saves the contact information in her phone.

When she looks the agency up online there are multiple advertisements for their new talent search. They were putting together a girl band and they needed fresh, young talent.

Josie tapes herself and sends it to the agency. She isn't totally sure that this is the right move - she wanted to be a star in her own right, not part of a collective, _again_ \- but nothing else seemed to be working for her. This could be a good first step, a way to get her foot on the ladder.

Two weeks after she sends her tape, she receives a phone call from the agency. She feels a strange mix of excitement and disappointment when they request a callback audition.

 

 

 

 

 

24.

Josie's second shot at being a member of a girl band has it's pros and cons. She isn't the lead vocalist - she takes the lead on certain songs, but shares the spotlight with the two other members - which is frustrating at times. Especially when Josie knows her vocals are stronger. The music they produce is manufactured and sometimes gimmicky, a far cry from the jazz and soul-inspired songs she liked to write for herself in her down time. And there is also the tiny matter of her not-so-friendly relationship with her band mates.

It wasn't that she considered herself to be better than Tia and Jasmine but... well, she kind of was.

They had raw talent but it was unrefined. They didn't have her vocal training or her experience from being in The Pussycats. Both girls had won places in the band after auditioning just like her, but it wasn't a requirement to have any prior experience. The label just wanted young, pretty girls who could dance and sing at the same time. Earning her place hadn't exactly been a challenge for Josie.

She knew she should make more of an effort, instead of hiding away on the tour bus with her headphones in or attending industry parties solo. Her manager was always telling her not to look herself or the band up online but she saw the headlines, saw what people were saying about her. She was the most talented but also the most hated. She had been branded snobby, arrogant, rude to her bandmates. And she had been some of those things at times, but those people just didn't understand the pressures of being in the band and in the public eye. 

Still, the fame wasn't all bad.

 

 

 

(She becomes something she hates, something she was sure she would never be.)

 

 

 

She is never turned away from a party or a club or an event. Everyone knows her face and if they don't, her manager soon rectifies that. Femme are at the height of their fame, their sophomore album a hit on the Billboard charts and a world tour kicking off in the summer. 

Josie has lived a relatively clean life. She had dabbled with jingle-jangle once but knew she need to stay focused and keep a clear head, so she never had the desire to smoke weed in high school or try something at parties in college. It is never discussed but Josie is well aware of her father's past habits, his struggles. They had been a factor in her parent's divorce after all. So the thought of dabbling in any of that stuff had seemed kind of scary and foreign to her.

But being in Los Angeles, surrounded by young people with too much money and self-importance, means you are also surrounded by drugs. And Josie wants to fit in, wants to belong in this world. She can't miss out.

It starts with a bump in the bathroom of a club, sniffing cocaine off a young model's car keys. She is out with some other singers she met at an award's after-party, swept along with the group as they move from one club to another. Josie is drunk and dizzy, tottering on her heels, and when someone drags her into the bathroom stall and tells her to snort it, she does without hesitation.

It is a rush she's never experienced before - the people, the parties, the high- and she can't get enough.

 

 

 

Her manager yells at her, furious over her hangovers and the paparazzi pictures online that show her falling out of cabs, her short dresses riding too-high on her thighs. She is in a girl band that has a strong, teenage fanbase. She is supposed to be a role model for young girls. So many of their songs focused on loving yourself and being a strong woman, and here she was, out of her mind and a total mess. How could you be a strong woman when sometimes you weren't even sure what day it was?

Josie knows she is right but that doesn't stop her from going out every weekend. Her bandmates are angry, too, their careers and the future of the band possibly in jeopardy if she doesn't clean up her act. She just gets better at hiding - always entering parties from the back entrance, surrounding herself with people who also liked to have fun and wouldn't run their mouths to the gossip sites.

( _People_. Never friends. She wouldn't call any of them her friends.)

 

 

 

Two months before the first tour date, Josie runs into Chuck Clayton at The Peppermint Club.

He is a household name now, his successful football career sending him into the celebrity stratosphere. She knew he had moved to the Oakland Raiders before the new season started but she hadn't even considered the possibility of running into him in LA. And especially not here, now, when she had just taken a bump and had a pill in her purse for later.

She tries to avoid him, staying well away from the VIP section that he is sitting in with some of his teammates. But eventually he finds her, his hands clutching at her waist as he comes up behind her.

"It's been a while, McCoy."

She turns to him, trying to plaster a convincing smile on her face. "Chuck!" she says with maybe too much enthusiasm. "Oh my god, it's been too long!"

Her arms wrap around his neck in a tight hug that he returns and when he pulls away he is smiling at her, eyes full of genuine affection. He is still so handsome, features even more striking now that his face has lost the fullness of youth.

"I can't believe we're running into each other. I mean, you're like a legit superstar now!"

She laughs. "Not quite, but I'll take it. Besides, you're the star here, Mr. NFL."

He smirks, shrugs nonchalantly. "What can I say? Some of were just born for greatness."

"Shut up," she laughs. 

"Seriously, though, you did good, Jose. You got what you always wanted."

"Yeah," she murmurs. "I guess I did."

His brow furrows. "What's going on? I thought you'd be bragging about your success but you don't seem that happy."

She sighs. "I guess, this just isn't how I thought things would turn out. Being in a band was fun when I was sixteen but I didn't think I'd still be in one in my twenties."

"But this _is_ what you wanted, right? A real career, a record deal?"

"Yeah, but..." She trails off, defeated, struggling to articulate how she feels. "I wanted to make it on my own. I've always thought that I was good enough to make it on my own. Now I'm not so sure."

"Hey." Chuck taps her beneath the chin, tipping her face up until she meets his eye. "You _are_ good enough. More than. And anyone back home will agree with me. But this - the sad, disappointed girl - this isn't the Josie McCoy I grew up with. When the fuck did you stop believing in yourself?"

Josie tries to blink away the tears that have suddenly formed. "I dont know," she admits quietly, voice barely audible over the music.

"You're incredible," he murmurs in her ear and then presses a kiss to her cheekbone. "Don't ever forget that."

She nods, biting into her bottom in an attempt to keep her emotions in check.

"Let me put my number in your phone," he says, taking the device from her hand and typing his information into her contacts. "Call me. Even if you just wanna get some shit off your chest. I'm here; I'll listen."

She smiles, small but true. "Thanks, Chuck. Really, I mean it."

 

 

 

As soon as he is gone, she picks up a shot from the tray on the table and throws it back. Then another, and another.

She orders a cocktail - 'something strong' is her only request to the bartender - and takes a bump from the girl sat next to her. The drugs and the booze are a good distraction from the melancholy that has swept over following her conversation with Chuck. How has she reached this point? How has she become such a disappointment?

Hours pass and Josie doesn't stop, consuming whatever is put in front of her until her vision is blurry and she can't stand upright. She feels nauseous, dizzy, but there is no way she can move from the booth she is in. Vaguely, she feels herself being lifted into someone's arms, carried through a crowd of people until she is placed in the back of a vehicle. Street lights pass her outside, blurry white lights, and the sky fades from black to dark blue as the early morning hours tick on.

Someone helps her out of the car and into a building. Josie squints against the harsh lighting, the whiteness that suddenly surrounds her, and it all becomes too much. She throws up the contents of her stomach on the floor in front of her, stomach acid burning her throat.

"Can you tell me how much you've had to drink?" a female voice asks, and she feels her eyelids being pulled open. "Have you taken any drugs?"

Josie groans, turning her head away from the light shining into her eye, but she can't move freely, is being held in place. She convulses as she feels liquid rise up in her throat again and she is turning quickly, throwing up over the side of the bed.

"Take it easy, honey," the voice says, soothing. "We're gonna help you."

 

 

 

Josie stumbles out of the hospital, stomach painful and empty and her throat dry and swollen. She drops down to take a seat on the curb, not caring who sees her, and pulls her phone from her bag.

"Elaine?" she says, voice scratchy and weak. "I fucked up."

Her manager is screaming down the phone, expletives flying from her mouth as Josie tells her what she has done. She yells about _reputation_ and _image_ and all of the other things Josie has put in jeopardy with her actions. She listens to it all with her head cradled in her hand, the California sun beating down on her bare skin, exposed by the tiny dress she had worn to the club.

The nurse had asked her if she had anyone who could come get her, someone who could take her home. She had said no and insisted she could get herself home. The people she was with last night clearly didn't care about her - had put her in a cab and left her to travel to the hospital, vulnerable and alone. Her mother is halfway across the country, Tia and Jasmine hate her, and she couldn't call Chuck only hours after seeing him again.

Her thumb hovers over Cheryl's name in her contacts. She was the only other person she knew in LA and she knew she wouldn't judge her, but something stops Josie from making the call. It's shame, she realizes, and also her pride. She has messed up - royally - but she would deal with the consequences alone. She didn't want anyone else to see her like this.

She calls a cab and waits on the sidewalk, ignoring the looks she receives from people who pass.

 

 

 

It is a media shitstorm, as she expected. Her manager is furious, ready to fire her on the spot. It is only Tia and Jasmine's pleading that save her and she is sure they are doing it more for the preservation of the band and their fame, than out of any loyalty to Josie.

(She doesn't blame them. She deserves it.)

They form a plan, damage control. She will attend a rehabilitation program, will remain out of the public eye until the tour begins. She will issue a statement, remorseful and sincere, telling their young fans that drugs and alcohol aren't the answer and to get help if you need it. The Josie of yesterday would have rolled her eyes, quit the band in a fit of rage and embarrassment, but this Josie - the one who has had her stomach pumped and almost lost her career - knows she needs to be quiet and do whatever she is told.

"Thank you," she tells Tia and Jasmine.

"We didn't do it for you, we did it for us," Tia replies, confirming her assumptions. "But... we're glad you're okay. That was kinda scary for a second."

Josie resolves to try harder, to take control of her life again.

 

 

 

 

 

28.

Josie knows the focus today is on the bride and groom, but she still catches people staring at her. They're probably trying to determine where they know her from, attempting to place her face. Some of them maybe already know - the former girl band member who ditched her bandmates a year ago and had yet to make a solo attempt.

It's times like this that she wished she still drank, that she could still make good use of the free bar. Alcohol would help her ignore the staring and whispering. (Most of which, is just her paranoid mind playing tricks on her.)

She isn't entirely sure why she was invited. She and Betty had been friends in school but they hadn't spoke all that much since graduation. And Jughead had often caused trouble for her mother - there was no love lost there. As she looks around the venue she supposes the event has been a kind of reunion for some. The newlyweds were still close to a lot of their teenage friends and seem to have invited anyone they were familiar with during that time.

Josie loves a wedding as much as the next person, and she also liked the chance to be a normal girl from New Jersey for the weekend. Whatever their reasons, she wasn't about to turn their invite down.

She orders a virgin mojito and wanders over to Veronica's table, where she is sat chatting with Cheryl. They are beautiful in their bridesmaid's dresses - Josie is still confused as to how Cheryl landed _that_ job - but there is a sadness to both of them that she has noticed all night.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"By all means." Veornica gestures to the empty chair beside them.

"We were just discussing Veronica's school."

Josie's eyebrows shoot up. "You're still in school? I thought you went to college after graduation."

"I did," Veronica replies. "But it was a mistake. I hated my major. And so, last year I decided to apply to Law school. It was a dream of mine."

"Wow," Josie says, impressed. "So you just switched up your whole life?"

Veronica shrugs. "I guess but it was worth it. I love being in Law school."

"Doesn't it feel weird?" Josie asks, genuinely curious. "Going to school at our age?"

"Sometimes. I'm not the oldest in my class but I'm definitely not the youngest."

"Who even cares?" Cheryl interjects. "Shit happens, life don't go according to plan. But it's never too late to get what you want."

"Cheers to that." Veronica raises her glass and taps it against Cheryl's.

Josie takes a sip of her own wine, Cheryl's words ringing in her ears. _It's never too late to get what you want_. Was that really true? She wasn't satisfied with the direction her career had taken but the decision to quit the band had still been hard. She had become more of team-player in the later years but she knew being in a band wasn't what she wanted. That being said, she didn't want to leave the industry either, and without her place in Femme there is the possibility that she could become irrelevant; just another has-been who people won't remember in a few years.

 _No_. That was the kind of defeatist thinking that had put her in this position. She wonders where all her fire has gone, the determination and the - in Val's word - arrogance, that had made her so sure of herself and her ability to succeed. Her career and Veronica's career were two very different fields but that didn't mean she couldn't learn from her. She didn't care that it was unusual for someone her age to just be entering Law school - she did it anyway.

"Hey, Cheryl?" She turns to her. "You have a lot of contacts in LA, right?"

"You could say that." She raises an eyebrow. "Why the interest?"

"Do you know many people in the music industry?"

A knowing look crosses her face and she smiles. "Not personally but I definitely know a guy who knows a guy." She reaches out to grasp Josie's hand and squeezes. "I can hook you up." 

Josie's chest feels warm, Cheryl's willingness to help her lighting her up from the inside. Maybe this was where she had been going wrong. You need people in your life who would support you and all she has ever done is push them away, determined to make it on her own. But she sees now that there is no shame in receiving help from others. 

She squeezes her fingers back. "Thank you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

31.

As per the terms of her contract, Josie is allowed to hire anyone she wants as a co-writer, and so her first call is Val. They've stayed in contact over the years, have ran into each others at events and award shows. She is a woman in demand, sought-after, and Josie is praying that she's willing to help out an old friend.

"I'll be in LA in two weeks, should be there for a while. Does that work for you?"

Josie has to calm herself before she yells _yes!_ down the phone. She had a record deal for a solo album, studio time in one of the best studios in the city, several acquaintances in the industry that were willing to feature on her debut, and now a songwriter that she loves and trusts on-board.

It's taken a long time but things finally seemed to be falling into place.

 

 

 

The hours are long but the work is rewarding. Josie loves being in the studio, surrounded by the equipment and the instruments, mixing her own songs and experimenting with new sounds. Val is incredible, maintaining Josie's wishes of a vintage, jazzy sound, while keeping the music modern enough to appeal to current audiences.

The produce nine tracks in ten months, and Josie loves every one of them for different reasons, but they need another to round out the album.

"Something slower," Val suggests. "More melancholy, like the first half of the album."

Josie has a song in mind, something she wrote when she was eighteen, but it feels almost too personal. She had wrote it when she was feeling low and rejected, and she's not sure she wants anyone else to here it.

"What is it?" Val asks, scrutinizing her.

"I have a song," she replies slowly. "But... I'm not sure. It's really personal to me. I'm not sure I want to share it."

Val sighs and places her hands on her knees, meeting her eye. "Jose, this is your first solo album. You want people to know who you are. You want them to connect with you."

"But... I'm nervous," she admits. "I'm not sure how it'll be received."

Val smiles. "All the more reason to do it."

 

 

 

"And that's a wrap," Val announces with a grin.

Josie squeals and throws her arms around her. "Oh my god! I can't believe it. We actually did it."

Val laughs and cups Josie's face between her hands. "We really did. You have an album, babe! This is insane."

"Thank you," Josie says sincerely. "Not just for this, but for everything. I wouldn't be where I am today without you."

Val's eyes soften. "Well that's what friends are for." She smirks. "Just don't forget about me and Mel when you make your acceptance speech at the Grammy's."

"Oh, shhh," Josie shushes her, but she's smiling. "Don't jinx me!"

"So, are we sticking with the original title?" Val asks as she uncaps a Sharpie.

"Yeah," Josie replies, nodding. "It feels right."

Val takes the disc containing her entire album and writes the word 'Feline' across the front.

She holds it out and admires it with a smile. "Perfect."

 

 

 

She calls him as soon as she leaves the studio. They've only seen each other twice in passing since that awful night almost seven years ago. They stayed in touch over social media, liking and commenting on each other's Instagram posts or replying to each other's tweets - much to the enjoyment of gossip columns - but it wasn't the kind of contact she wanted with him. She wanted to see him with her own eyes, in front of her; she wanted to see if he still smelled the same, still had that infectious laugh she thought about from time to time.

It had been too long but she finally had her life in order. Now was the time.

"Josie? This is a surprise."

"Yeah," she laughs. "Long time, no speak, huh?"

"You could say that," Chuck replies, chuckling. "I didn't think you'd still have my number."

"Well you still have mine," she points out.

He chuckles. "True. So what's up?"

They make plans to meet that night at a bar downtown and Josie is smiling as she ends the call. Things were finally going her way for her and it felt so fucking good.

 

 

 

"Cheers to you and your first album!" Chuck clinks his glass to hers - a whiskey for him and a soda water for her. "You finally did it. I'm proud of you, babe."

She smiles, relaxes back into the bar's plush sofa. "I'm kinda proud of me, too."

He grins, teeth so white and eyes so open and friendly. He had become such a good man, a kind man.

"I have to ask - why me? I thought you'd be celebrating with Dua Lipa these days, not a retired football player."

She rolls her eyes. "Is that all you have to say about yourself - retired football player? Your career may have ended but you're a lot more than that," she assures him. "And to answer your question - you were the first person I thought of. I knew you'd be happy for me, even after all this time. And what you said that night in The Peppermint Club, all those years ago, it really affected me. Even now." She smiles then, gaze falling as she admits, "Plus, I've kinda missed you."

"Only kinda?" he teases. He's half-smiling now, sexy but sweet. "Well the feelings mutual."

She takes a sip of her cocktail, gaze flickering over to him over the rim of her glass. He is watching her, too, a new intensity to his eyes.

"So whats the plan now?" she asks. "Start drawing again, take over the comic world?"

He laughs, shakes his head. "I can't believe you remember that. Maybe, I will. Who knows? But I've definitely got some plans, some ideas."

"Oh, yeah?" She smiles. "Like what?"

"Well for a start, some plans for me and you. If you're interested, of course," he begins, leaning in closer. "I think this thing between us is long overdue." His arm stretches across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against the back of her neck. She shivers at the contact.  "You know, we could become a real power couple, McCoy."

Josie smirks, leaning in too until she can feel his breath on her skin. She reaches up and runs her thumb across his bottom lip.

"I like the way you think, Clayton."

 


	4. sloth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to @oleekingcole on tumblr. her 'just sweet pea things' head-canons inspired some of this chapter. and yes, i made up a name for sweet pea because i have no idea what his real name is :)

_everybody that's on my block_  
_they're tired of me that ain't no shock_  
_and i ain't got no idols_  
_i ain't got much taste_  
_i'm shiftless when i'm idle_  
_i got time to waste_

 

  
6.

When he is six he is sure of three things; his real name is Stephen although everyone calls him Sweet Pea, he is named after his dad, and his dad is never coming home.

His mom cries a lot now and she takes a lot of baths. She doesn’t let him come in, always locking the door. She doesn’t even answer when he tries to talk to her through it.

His Uncle Buzz comes over all the time, eyes sad and smelling of cigarettes. He makes mac and cheese and they eat it in front of the TV when his mom goes to bed. One day he gives him a necklace with two metal plates attached. Sweet Pea doesn’t know what they are but he knows they’re important.

“Look after those,” Uncle Buzz tells him. “They were your dad’s and now they’re yours, and you need to take care of them.”

The chain is too long so keeps the necklace in his toy box until he is big enough to wear them.

On Sundays Uncle Buzz lets him help fix his bike and Sweet Pea likes sitting next to him and handing him the tools he needs. He learns the names of all the tools and tries to teach Foggie when he comes over to his house.

Six months after his dad dies, his Uncle dies too. There was an accident, his mom tells him, and he lost control of his bike.

Sweet Pea slides the necklace over his head and curls up on his bed and cries himself to sleep. He doesn’t understand why people keep leaving him.

 

 

 

 

  
15.

His fifteenth year is a year of firsts.

He moves in with grandparents, a trailer only five minutes away. He knows it's for the best – his mom can’t take care of him right now and spends a lot of time in bed – and Sweet Pea likes his Grandma and Pop.

His Pop gives him his first Black Sabbath album, a vinyl copy _Master of Reality_ , and his dad’s old record player.

“This was the first record I ever bought,” he says, setting the disc onto the turntable. “I gave it to your dad when he was sixteen. It was never really his thing, he preferred The Replacements. But I think you’ll like it.”

He loves it; the noise, the guitar, the anger. And when Ozzy sings that nothing seems to satisfy him, he feels that shit in his bones.

It’s the best gift he ever receives.

 

 

  
Foggie now goes by Fangs and Sweet Pea knows he’s already had sex with three girls.

He’s always been slightly ahead of him. Sweet Pea has kissed four girls – if you include Toni, which he kind of doesn’t – and got a blow job from Stacey Sampson behind school this year. It just doesn’t come as easy to him.

Fangs is the one all the girls like. Calm where he is erratic, handsome when he is scruffy. He shot up to almost six feet when he was fourteen. (Then Sweet Pea did too, and just kept growing.) He has always had more appeal. 

He is the first to score weed, too, shaking a little baggie at Sweet Pea as he nods towards the little out-building at the end of what used to be the football field.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Sweet Pea laughs, watching him fumble with the rolling papers.

He shrugs. “My brother showed me. It’s different from normal smokes, rolled differently.”

He manages it eventually, a small, crooked joint that is laughable but will probably get the job done.

Fangs takes the first toke, he the second, and they pass it back and forth until there is almost nothing left. They sit back on the dirty floor of the out-building, sunlight filtering in through the cracks in the walls. There is a veil of smoke around them and Sweet Pea feels hazy and chill, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

“Do you feel anything?” Fang asks, voice slow and quiet.

“I... I think so.”

It’s a great feeling, a feeling he comes to enjoy very quickly. It definitely lived up to the hype.

 

 

  
There is an open-door policy between him and Fangs. Their trailers are close together and they’re always dropping by, entering unexpectedly at various times of the day. Fangs was even familiar with his grandparents and his mom was always making extra food for Sweet Pea.

There have been a few times where the policy has gotten them into trouble. Like the time Fangs walked in on him jerking off or when Sweet Pea didn’t close the door quick enough and caught sight of Fang’s bare ass.

This time, though, was probably the most surprising.

Sweet Pea doesn’t even knock on his bedroom door, just swings it open and stands frozen in the doorway, shocked by what he finds inside. Fangs, on his bed, with an older guy he recognizes on top of him – kissing.

His head snaps up when he realizes someone else is in the room. He shouts, “Sweet Pea, it’s not–“

Sweet Pea is already closing the door - “Shit. Sorry, man” - and rushing out of the Fogarty’s trailer.

“Hey, man. Wait up!” he hears behind him. He keeps walking. “Sweet Pea, seriously. Stop!”

He does, spinning around to look at Fangs worried face.

“Look, I’m not judging, dude. What you do and who you do it with is your business. It just would have been nice to know.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I was going to tell you. I just wasn’t really sure... _what_ to tell you.”

“Are you gay?”

He shrugs. “I think so. I mean, I definitely like guys more than girls. I haven’t even looked at a girl in months.”

“B-but you’re like – girls _love_ you,” he stammers out. “You’ve slept with three chicks!”

Fangs chuckles softly. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. I was just trying things out. But hey, if I’m no longer an option maybe you’ll finally get some action,” he teases, punching Sweet Pea in the arm.

He shoves him away, laughing. “Shut the fuck up.”

Fangs smile falls, eyebrows knitting together. “Are you okay? With me?”

“Yeah, dude, of course. It just threw me off.” He frowns, trying to place the face of the other man. “Who was that guy?”

“Joaquin DeSantos. He’s a sophomore.”

“Isn’t he a Serpent?” Sweet Pea asks. He knew he looked familiar and he’s sure he’s seen him hanging around the Whyte Wyrm.

“Uh, yeah. I think so.”

Sweet Pea nods. “Right. Well, watch your back, okay? I don’t think the Serpents are homophobes but some of those dudes are old school. Just... be careful.”

“I will. Thanks, man.”

Sweet Pea smirks. “Get back to your boy. Come find me later when you’re free.”

Fangs grins. “I will.”

He buries his hands in his pockets and ambles back to his grandparent’s trailer, musing over his discovery. Fangs was into dudes and he knew Toni had dated a couple of chicks. That meant two of his best friends liked to swing the other way.

Interesting.

 

 

  
They skip fourth period and sneak off to the out-building. They never went under the bleachers – it was full of seniors who were always looking to start shit – and their little hideout had yet to be discovered.

It’s their fourth or fifth time getting high – he’s lost count – and their third time just the two of them. Toni had joined them a couple of times but had just met a new guy who seemed to be taking up all of her time. Fangs joints are much better now and Sweet Pea relaxes into the feeling almost immediately, letting it wash over him.

They sit in silence for a little, passing the joint back and forth, when he suddenly asks, “How does it feel?”

Fangs turns to him. “How does what feel?”

“You know... kissing a guy.”

“What?” He laughs. “I don’t know. It feels good, like any kiss. Except better because I’m more attracted to guys.” He squints at him. “Why? You wanna try it?”

Sweet Pea shrugs. “Kind of.”

Fangs’ eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, really. I had no idea.”

“Well, you know... I’m still into girls but sometimes I look at guys and think maybe... maybe I’d...” He struggles to articulate his feelings. “I guess I just wanna know what the hype is about. I mean, you’re doing it and Toni’s doing it.”

Fangs chuckles. “You don’t have to do something just because your best friends are.”

“I know that.” He sighs. “Whatever. Just forget it, man.”

There is a beat, Sweet Pea frowning at the floor in front of him, and then Fangs says, “Hey, Sweet Pea.”

He turns to him and only has a second to register what is happening before Fangs is kissing him.

It’s firm, slightly wet, sloppier than the way girls kiss, but it feels good and Sweet Pea kisses back, adrenaline coursing through him at the new experience.

They pull away slowly, both breathing harshly in the silence.

“So... how was it?” Fangs murmurs.

Sweet Pea nods. “Not bad.”

They both stare at the each other for a few seconds, saying nothing.

Sweet Pea’s not sure if it’s the weed or the situation, but they both fall to the floor, giggling like fools.

 

 

 

 

  
16.

It’s his Pop’s connections that get him involved in the Serpents.

His grandpa was an old member of the gang - used to run with them back in the seventies before his dad and uncle were born - and his Uncle Buzz joined when he was a teenager. He vaguely remembers Buzz’s leather jacket, the green stitching of the snake covering the back, boldly representing who he was.

His grandpa goes to the Whyte Wyrm for a beer a few times a week and when Sweet Pea turns sixteen, he invites him along. He’s not allowed to drink but he is allowed to hang out, listening to the guys tell stories and reminisce about old times, or play pinball and pool in the back with Fangs and his brothers.

He likes it. There’s a camaraderie between them that Sweet Pea likes and it never quite seems to disappear.

 

 

  
One night in the Whyte Wyrm, he witnesses his first bar fight and he is instantly hooked.

There are rumors flying around about one of the high-ranking Serpents, talk of him being involved in the death of a Northside kid and it’s all related to drugs. FP Jones is into some bad shit and people have a lot to say about it. Trouble with the cops could destroy everything and FP was bringing the heat.

He doesn’t know what is said, isn’t really paying to the commotion behind him until he hears the sound of glassing smashing and men yelling.

He spins around, watching, horrified, as one guy grabs FP by the arms and another holds up a broken beer bottle. Some of his FP’s men come running over but they’re not close enough, the lunatic with the bottle edging closer and closer, a murderous look in his eye. He can see FP attempting to struggle out of his hold, spit flying out of his mouth as he yells at the man to stay the fuck away from him, but he’s still pretty powerless against him. Sweet Pea acts on instinct, not ready to witness a man get horribly disfigured in front of his eyes.

His hand curls up into a fist and he grits his teeth as he begins to approach. He feels Fangs grab his arm and call out to him but he ignores it, still moving forward. In one smooth move, he grasps the guy’s arm and turns him until they make eye contact, then pulls back his arm and smashes his fist directly into his nose.

From there, it is chaos.

The other guy releases FP and swings for Sweet Pea but doesn’t get very far before FP has him in a chokehold. Other men wade in, throwing punches at FP’s people, tipping over chairs and tables, and beating on anyone who happens to walk by. Sweet Pea doesn’t know how long it lasts – it could be hours or just minutes – but he is eventually dragged away by Fangs and one of his brothers, the man he had been hovering over now bloody and bruised, with a visibly broken jaw.

“What the fuck was that?!” Fangs yells, shoving him out of the door and into the frigid night air.

“You saw him! He was gonna kill FP,” Sweet Pea yells back, hissing when he feels sudden pain near his eyebrow.

He reaches up and his fingers come away bloody. He turns to the window beside him and gets a good look at his reflection. He looks wild-eyed and crazy, still hopped up on adrenaline, and there’s a trail of blood dripping down his face.

He doesn’t know why, but he starts to laugh.

“What’s the matter with you?” Fangs hisses, staring at him in horror.

He looks down at his bloody hands, knuckles tender and swollen, physical proof of the fight that had just ensued.

“You alright, son?”

He looks up at the sound of his Pop’s voice and sees FP walking behind him, face looking similar to his own.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Hey, kid. What’s your name?” FP asks, grasping his shoulder.

“Stephen. But everyone calls me Sweet Pea.”

“You’re Stevie's boy?” he asks and Sweet Pea nods, unable to stop the lump that forms in his throat at any mention of his father’s name. “I wanted to say thanks. You really had my back in there. I might have died if it wasn’t for you.”

“S’nothing,” Sweet Pea mumbles. The adrenaline was starting to dissipate and now all he could feel was pain.

“Nah, it was definitely something.” He smirks, eyeing him with narrowed eyes. “I’ve got a proposition for you. How do you feel about doing a little job for me?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Depends what it is.”

FP chuckles. “I like you, kid. Come see me tomorrow, here at noon.” Sweet Pea nods and FP slaps him on the shoulder again. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And get that hand looked at. Someone behind the bar can help.”

He heads back into the bar. Behind him, Fangs yells again, “What the fuck?”

 

 

  
On Monday, Sweet Pea runs his first job for the Serpents. On Tuesday, he gets the shit kicked out of him and the Serpents symbol tattooed on his neck.

 

 

 

 

  
17.

Sometimes he thinks the only time he ever feels alive is when he’s fighting.

Spending your days skipping class, hotboxing in your car and napping whenever you get a chance can leave a person feeling apathetic towards life. He feels a spark, sometimes, when he is on a job, but jobs were usually straight forward and he was in and out within an hour.

But _fighting_. That really got him going; had his blood pumping, his pulse spiking. He had to hand it to Andrews – he could throw a hell of a punch. But he didn’t know him, didn’t know that the first contact was what set him alight, the pain only fuelling his fire.

He tackles him to the ground, the raining plastering his hair to his forehead and making it harder for him to see. He moves instinctually, kicking out wherever he could, feeling satisfied whenever he got in a good blow.

He is lost in the madness, swept up in the violence, but even he knows he should stop when a gunshot rings out around them.

 

 

  
Truthfully, Sweet Pea likes Jughead. He clearly had loyalty – whether to his dad or the Serpents, he wasn’t sure – and he had faced all the challenges they threw his way with a look of pure determination.

Sure, he liked giving him shit, too. The kid was so damn easy to wind up. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have his back.

He was one of them now, whether they all liked it or not, and that meant something to Sweet Pea. He didn’t stand for much – honestly didn’t _care_ about much – but you had to stand with your own.

 

 

  
Sweet Pea decides he kinda likes being at Riverdale High.

It’s cleaner than the previous shithole, there’s no metal detectors when you walk through the door, the cafeteria food is not just edible but actually okay, and there’s a smoking hot brunette on the welcome committee that he occasionally likes to flirt with.

(He knows she’s Andrews’ girl, sees the glares he directs his way, and it only makes it sweeter.)

The principal was a dick and the dress-code sucked, but it beat the hell out of the cesspit that was Southside High. Plus, he and Fangs could smoke under the bleachers here – all of the seniors were too scared of their tattoos and their assumptions to try and reclaim their spot.

If you asked him, school on the Northside was just swell.

 

 

  
There was one thing he hadn’t accounted for when coming to this school – the teachers actually paid attention to your grades.

He gets called into the Principal’s office just before spring break. He knows they tried to contact his mother – she was still listed as his guardian on his file and he had picked up the messages the administration had left when he visited her last week. They’d failed, obviously. His mother hardly spoke to anyone, ever, never mind picking up the phone. They must have resigned themselves to the fact that they weren’t going to reach her and decided to speak to him alone. But despite all of the pre-empting, the conversation is still a shock to him, so unfamiliar.

“You’re failing, Mr. Shaw, and if you keep this up, there’s a chance you won’t be graduating next summer.”

Toni asks him what happened when he sees her at the Whyte Wyrm.

He shrugs. “I’m failing. Might not graduate next year.”

She punches him in the arm. “Dude! Get your shit together. Do you wanna be stuck in this town your whole goddamn life?”

“Whatever,” he mutters dismissively and turns to the pinball machine.

He slips in a quarter and the machine lights up. He can feel Toni’s disapproving stare on his back but he doesn’t turn around. He had a game to win.

 

 

 

 

  
18.

A few months into his senior year, he realizes he is the only Serpent that isn’t on track to graduating in the summer and that just won’t do.

(He wasn’t about to go to summer school and he definitely wasn’t going to be a high school dropout. He’d been through almost fourteen years of this shit and he wasn’t going to leave it with nothing.)

By some miracle – and the recruitment of Toni and Betty as tutors – he manages to graduate with the rest of his class. He knows it should be a proud moment for him, and he does feel some satisfaction when he sees his grandparents smiling faces in the audience, but it isn’t quite the milestone that it was for others.

(His mom didn’t make it. He’d invited her, and she said she would come, but he hadn’t held his breath.)

He doesn’t know what to do with this, the piece of paper in his hands. He wasn’t planning to go to college and it wasn’t like he’d worked really hard for it. He guesses it will just get hung up on his grandparent’s wall as a sign that he wasn’t a total fuck-up. 

 

 

  
Cheryl Blossom is back in town for summer break and throws a graduation party at her big ass house for her friends. To everyone’s surprise, she invites the whole town – Northsiders and Southsiders – and almost the entire class shows up to celebrate high school finally ending.

(He tells Fangs that he thinks she only invited them all because she’s been boning Toni since she came home. He’s seen them together a few times, riding around in Cheryl’s red car, the same red car he saw parked outside of the Whyte Wyrm last week.

Fangs agrees.)

He is pouring more rum into the punch bowl when Betty wanders over, an amused smile on her face.

“Are you trying to get everyone hammered tonight?”

He smirks. “High schools over, Cooper. It’s time to celebrate.”

“Good point.” She grins, holding out her empty solo cup. “Pour me a drink?”

He ladels a few spoonfuls into her cup.

“This shit is pretty strong, Betts. Don’t tell your boy who made you this drink. He’ll try to kick my ass and we both know that won’t end well for him.”

Betty giggles and winces as she takes a sip of the punch.

“Shit. You weren’t lying.”

He laughs. “I’m a man of my word.” His smile falls then, expression growing serious. “Hey, thanks for helping me these past few months. I wouldn’t have graduated without you.”

She smiles softly. “That’s okay. I was happy to help.”

“Still–” he rubs the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed, “–you didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugs, still smiling. “You’re one of Jug’s best friends and that makes you one of my friends.”

He smiles at the simplicity of that, the sweetness in this girl. “Thanks, Betty.”

“No problem. And don’t worry – I won’t tell anyone who spiked the punch.” She throws him a wink and then walks off in search of Jughead.

Sweet Pea pours a cup for himself and grabs a few chips from the snack table. He is minding his own business, surveying the crowd of people in the grand Blossom living room, when he feels someone’s eyes on him. He turns towards the source, eyes landing on a tall, broad-shouldered guy he doesn’t recognize. Their eyes meet and Sweet Pea tenses up, defences automatically rising at the possibility this guy was going to start a fight.

Then, he smirks at him and Sweet Pea can see that his smile is goddamn flirtatious.

His eyes trail over him, blatantly checking him out, and he decides _fuck it_. This guy was hot and he wanted to have some fun tonight.

He nods towards the staircase leading to the first floor and waits for him to nod back before making his way over there.

 

 

  
FP asks him if he wants to work for the Serpents full-time, really become a part of the business, and for some reason, he hesitates.

He’s loyal to the gang and he would do whatever they asked of him, but his role has always been very ad-hoc. He got called upon as and when they needed him and it was usually to back them up, which was a part of the job Sweet Pea really liked. But working for them full-time, fully immersing himself in the complicated world that was the Serpents’ business? That required a lot of effort and Sweet Pea isn’t sure he’s up to the task.

 

 

  
Connor is strong, and sexy, and has a mouth that makes Sweet Pea want to cry.

He’s fun as well, always up for playing video games or smoking a bong or riding upstate on his bike. He likes hanging out with him – likes fucking him, too – and this thing between them that has been developing since Cheryl’s party has been a highlight of his summer. It’s casual and neither of them asks many questions about the other – Connor particularly avoids asking him about the Serpents – but sometimes the occasional questions slips in.

“So where are you going to school in the fall?”

Sweet Pea tucks his hand back beneath his head.

“Uh, nowhere. I’m not going to college.”

He turns to look at him, eyebrows shooting up. “You’re not?”

“No. Why? Where are you going?”

“Austin. University of Texas.”

Sweet Pea nods and leans over to Connor’s beside table to grab the joint he rolled earlier. He lights it up.

“You’re not even going to community college?”

He shrugs. “Nope.” He takes a drag, exhales, then passes the joint to him. “Why is that so surprising to you?”

Connor shrugs, sitting up against his headboard as he takes a toke.

“You’re smart, man. I guess I just assumed you’d be doing something after high school.”

Sweet Pea snorts. “I’m smart? What gave you that impression?”

He laughs. “Come on, man. You’re definitely not an idiot. And I’ve seen all of those books on your shelf.”

“They’re comic books actually. But... thanks. I guess.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” Connor assures him, “but I think you should at least check out some classes at community college. It’s less commitment and it’s a little extra behind you if you ever decide to get a normal job.”

“A normal job, huh?” Sweet Pea laughs. “I don’t think I know what one of those is.”

He slumps down in the bed as he finishes off the joint, mulling over what Connor just said. Maybe he’d check community college out online, just out of curiosity.

 

 

  
The same day Sweet Pea signs up for business classes at the Riverdale community college, he accepts FP’s job offer.

He wasn’t an idiot, he knew there was a chance he might struggle with another type of schooling, and he was self-aware enough to know that he could lose interest and give up altogether. But he there was no harm in trying.

The Serpents have become his contingency plan, a safe thing to fall back on, as much as it pained him to say it. So he would start working for FP in the next few weeks, and in the autumn he would start attending classes.

He hopes it doesn't all blow up in his face.

 

 

 

 

 

21.

True to form, Sweet Pea loses all interest in his college classes and drops out before the second year is over.

It was all too much, running with the Serpents and trying to study at the same time. Plus, Sweet Pea had never been all that good at studying before and he didn’t know why he thought that would change in college.

So he drops out and remains with the Serpents, doing what he knows best.

It’s about three months in that he realizes he doesn’t want to do that either. There’s nothing in it for him anymore. He gets a little chunk of the profits and the money is nice, but there’s only so many times you can threaten someone for money before it stops being fun and Sweet Pea is so done with it all.

FP takes it well; doesn’t try to persuade him to stay or excommunicate him from the gang.

“You’re still one of us,” he tells him. “And if you ever need a job, you know where to find me.”

He nod. “Thanks, boss.”

 

 

  
Moving to New York is Fangs’ idea.

“I’m sick of being in this town, man. I mean, what are we even sticking around for? We’re both out of the Serpents, I’m working for a guy I hate and you’re working at that pretentious bar.” He groans, throwing his head back. “I need something new. I need change.”

Two days later he proposes the idea of moving to the city – they both had some savings, they could rent an apartment together, and they already had friends in the city that could help make the move easier.

Sweet Pea’s attitude is as laidback as ever.

He shrugs. "Nothing's keeping me here. And I haven’t got any other shit going on.”

 

 

  
A few weeks before the move he is working the late shift at the bar. It’s a slow night, most people at home with their families for the holidays. A few regulars still came, nursing their drinks in the back of the bar, alone.

He hears her before he sees her – the click of her heels against the hardwood floor – and sees her before she sees him.

She’s as sexy as ever, still dressed head to toe in black and designer labels, switching out the short skirts for skintight pants. Her hair is shorter too, a straight, shoulder-skimming bob, sleek and shiny under the bar’s overhead lights.

 _Man_ , he would have done anything to get under those skirts in high school; had jerked off thinking about it more than once.

He approaches quietly and asks, “Hey, what are you having?”

She looks up at him with those big, dark eyes and smiles as recognition dawns.

“Sweet Pea?”

 

 

 

 

 

24.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. Fangs thinks he’s nuts.

He’s not an expert, but he thinks 'friends with benefits' situations were only supposed to last a few months, a year at most; but this thing he had with Veronica had now been going on for three years.

And everyday he falls for her just a little bit more.

He hadn’t even realized that was happening until a year into their arrangement. Fangs had watched them one morning, sat on one of their bar stools eating cereal, eyes trained on them as Veronica kissed him and then turned away, and he pulled her back once, then twice, for a little extra taste. His eyes had followed her as she walked to the door, had seen the sexy, little smirk she threw at him over her shoulder, and continued to stare at the closed door once she had left.

He hears a snort beside him and slides his gaze over to Fangs.

“What?”

“You’re, like, in love with her, dude.” He shakes his head, points his spoon at him. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters and walks back into his bedroom.

He collapses on the bed with a groan, burying his face in the pillow she had just slept on. It smells like her, like the expensive perfume she sprays on her pulse points, the perfume he can taste on her skin.

He thinks about what Fangs said and his stomach twists uncomfortably. _Was_ he in love with her? He doesn’t think he’s ever been in love before so how would he know?

Then he thinks about the way he had stared at her for an hour this morning before she woke, watching her peaceful, sleeping face and brushing back her hair. Or the way he thinks about her constantly, always on his mind, plaguing his thoughts with her laugh and her voice and the sounds she makes when he is inside of her.

Maybe he is in love with her. But it’s not like there’s anything he can do about it.

 

 

  
(Girls like Veronica don’t want relationships with guys like him. He’s not respectable or clean-cut or sophisticated. He couldn’t go out to dinner with her parents and charm the pants off them; the only thing he has in common with her father is that he’s also a criminal, and he just _knows_ that Mr Lodge would still see himself as better, consider his crimes more upper-crust than his own.

Chicks like Veronica didn’t fall in love with someone like Sweet Pea and he wasn’t stupid enough to think otherwise.)

 

 

  
(She’s still hung up on Andrews, too. She thinks he doesn’t know but he does.)

 

 

  
He’s working a late shift at the bar when he gets a text from Veronica that says she’s out tonight and she’s already made plans. He knows what that means – she’s fucking someone else.

Before that would have bothered him only a little bit, but now he’s in love with her, and he can’t even think straight, can’t stop imagining some other guy on top of her, kissing her, loving her.

“Hey, you okay?”

He feels a hand on his shoulder and he turns to Stacey, finds a look of genuine concern on her face. He bolts the door shut and sighs.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just got some stuff going on.”

“Oh, yeah?” She smiles, looking up at him beneath her lashes. “Wanna talk about it?”

The thing is, Stacey is fucking gorgeous. Smooth, tan skin, black hair so long it reaches the curve of her ass, bright eyes and full lips and a smile he’s seen men fall for. She was beautiful and she wanted him – he could see it when she looked at him, he could feel it in her constant, casual touches – but he’d never let himself go there before. He’s been so pre-occupied with Veronica that he hasn’t even been with another girl in over a year.

Until this night.

He has her up on a table, thrusting between her thighs as her hands scratch at his back beneath his shirt, her quiet moans and whimpers a chorus in his ears. It feels good, really fucking good, and he’s forgotten what it’s like to be with someone new.

“Shit, Stace,” he groans, wrapping one arm around her back to support her as he leans forward onto the table to change the angle, moving deeper.

She comes around him with a low moan – deeper than any of the noises he draws out of Veronica – and he follows quickly, spilling into the condom.

She kisses him one last time before she rushes out into the back to grab her things and hurry home. He sits back against the table, removes the rubber and decides, with a grimace, that he should probably clean the table before the bar opens again tomorrow.

 

 

  
The next night, Veronica comes over, unbuttoning her shirt as soon as she enters his bedroom.

“What did you get up to last night?” she asks as she straddles him, settles her weight on top of him. Her hands land on his chest, covering the dog tags around his neck.

His response is blunt, aiming to shock. “I fucked the girl I work with at the bar.”

He hates that she doesn’t look even slightly jealous.

 

 

 

 

 

25.

He’s always been lazy but never a coward.

He can sense that she’s going to leave him soon; can see it in her eyes when she smiles at him. All of her smiles were sad these days.

“I’m gonna tell her,” he informs Fangs, determined and resolute.

He shrugs, mouth thin with disapproval. “It’s your funeral.”

He has to tell her how he feels. She has to know that he loves her, that he’d be so good to her, before she decides to end it all.

She comes to his room, the way she always does, but there’s something different this time. She doesn’t stop touching him, kissing him, gets between his knees and takes him into her mouth – which she almost never does – and holds him impossibly close as he moves inside of her. Her fingers trace the ink on his skin, repeatedly, reverently. They are the touches of a lover, of someone who truly cares, and he thinks it’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to making love.

Part of him wants to believe that she loves him back, that she must if she can touch him like this. The more rational part says that this is the end and she’s giving him one last good memory to hold onto.

He watches her – in his room, in his bed, for the last time.

“This is over, isn’t it?” he asks quietly but he doesn’t need a response.

It’s better that he didn’t tell her, he tells himself. Relationships were too much work anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

28.

He’d been reluctant to agree when Jughead had first asked him to be a groomsman. He knew Andrews was going to be his best man and he really didn’t want to spend any extended length of time with him. But, ever the good guy, Archie approaches him at the bachelor party with his hand outstretched.

“The past should stay in the past,” he declares and he kind of agrees.

He shakes his hand – more for Jug’s sake than anything – and tries to hate him a little less.

They were never going to be best friends and Sweet Pea would always irrationally hate him for having Veronica’s love when he didn’t deserve it, but he could be a nice guy on Jughead’s big day.

 

 

  
He had gone out back to smoke when he saw Archie leading her out onto the dancefloor, not wanting to witness that for a second. When he returns she is sat alone at her table, eyes focused across the gazebo, watching Archie mingle with the other guests.

She’s not even being subtle about it anymore.

He approaches her carefully, debating with himself. Would she really want to talk to him here? He had been her dirty little secret after all.

She looks beautiful in her pale purple bridesmaid dress, more gauzy and delicate than anything he’s ever seen her in before. He drops down into the seat beside her and she turns to him as soon as she notices his presence.

“Hey,” she smiles, genuinely happy to see him.

(God, that makes everything hurt just a little bit more.)

“Hey. How’s it going?”

“Good.” She lifts up her wine glass. “I’m on my third glass of champagne, so feeling a little tipsy.”

He smiles. “Lightweight. You used to drink the hard stuff.”

She laughs. “I’m not twenty-one anymore. I can’t handle my liquor like I used to.”

Her eyes flicker over to Archie again, lips turning down just slightly.

“You should tell him,” Sweet Pea murmurs. Her eyes snap over to his. “I’m sure he feels the same way.”

“I... I don’t–“

“And even if he doesn’t, you can’t waste your life wondering what could have been.” He smiles at her, but his eyes are sad. “I know what it’s like to regret not telling someone how you feel, and trust me, it feels fucking horrible.”

Her eyes soften at his confession and he knows she knows. Maybe she always did.

“Be brave, Ronnie. You owe it to yourself.”

She is quiet for a moment before she leans over and brushes a feather-light kiss across his cheek, her hand wrapped around his forearm.

“Thanks, Stephen,” she says softly.

His eyes meet hers as she pulls back. “Don’t mention it.”

She excuses herself and he slumps down into his seat as he watches her walk away. Fangs comes over then, eyebrows pulled together.

“You okay, man?”

Sweet Pea smiles, nods. “I’m okay.”

It was time to let go.

 

 

 

 

 

30.

When Jerry offers him the job of bar manager, his first instinct is to say no. He feels nervous at even the prospect of more responsibility and he’s not sure he’s equipped to do that kind of job.

“Just think about it,” his boss tells him, walking away before he can blurt out an answer.

As opening time draws closer, he notices Stacey isn’t around, and asks another barman if he knows where she is.

“She called in sick.”

Sweet Pea frowns. That wasn’t like her at all. She always showed up, even after a night spent studying for a big test. In the six years she’s been working here, he thinks she’s had only two sick days.

He considers texting her but he worries it might be outside of the boundaries of their arrangement. They were fucking on a regular basis but there were no feelings there – at least on his part – and he didn’t want to cross any invisible lines.

He’d text her tomorrow if she was still sick. She probably didn’t want to hear from him anyway.

 

 

  
When she’d texted him and asked him to come over that morning, this was the last thing he had expected her to say.

“You’re pregnant?”

He can see the tears welling up in her eyes.

“I know it’s a shock, but it’s happened, and I don’t–“

“How?!” His voice is rising in volume, in hysteria, but he’s not quite yelling. “We used something every time!”

“I think it was the night of Jerry’s birthday,” she says quietly. “Remember? We stayed late to celebrate and he got out that expensive bottle of whiskey. We were both so drunk and we went back to yours, and I guess we didn’t use any protection.”

Sweet turns away from her, scrubs a hand across his face. He knew exactly what night she was talking about.

“ _Shit_.”

“Stephen?” He looks over to her and the heartbroken expression on her face makes him feel sick. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling? How you really feel about this?”

“I’ve just–“ He sighs, drags a hand back through his hair. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

He doesn’t look back as he leaves and collapses onto the couch as soon as he enters his apartment.

“FUCK!” he yells, tugging at his hair until it hurts.

Fangs rushes out of his bedroom, his boyfriend following close behind.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Stacey’s pregnant.”

Silence. Then, “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, _oh, shit_.”

“You okay, man?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly and retreats to his bedroom before he can ask anymore questions.

He shrugs out of his sweater and tosses it onto the floor, then throws himself face first onto his bed.

He didn’t want a baby. He had nothing to offer a kid and him being a father could only do more harm than good. He just wasn’t father material; even Stacey had to see that. He wonders why she even wants him to be part of the baby’s life.

 

 

  
Sweet Pea remains in his bed for the rest of the evening. More accurately, the rest of the week. He lies among his sheets, watching reruns of Seinfeld, smoking what remained of his stash, and eating bag after bag of chips. So many bags, he could give Jughead a run for his money.

On the third day, there is a knock at his door.

“Fuck off, Fangs!” he yells but then the door opens and it isn’t him.

“Hey,” Stacey says softly, cautiously.

He quickly sits up in bed, switches off the TV.

“Hey,” he replies quietly, voice weak.

“Can I sit?” she asks, gesturing to the end of his bed.

“Yeah. Of course.”

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” she begins. “But I wanted you to know that I’m keeping the baby and... I’d really like it if you were part of the baby’s life. If you want to be.”

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He didn’t know what to tell her, didn’t know how he felt about what she was offering.

“You don’t have to make a decision now. I’m just telling you, so you know, because I can’t keep waiting around in this radio silence, Stephen. My life is about to change and I need to take some control.”

He nods, licks his dry lips. “I know. And... I’ll think about it. I will call this time. I promise.”

The smile she gives him is sad and he knows she doesn’t believe him.

“Think about it,” she says, echoing Jerry’s words from a week earlier, and he realizes that he’s been half-assing everything. His life, his job, and now being a father.

He falls back against his bed when she leaves and stares up at the ceiling for a little while. He didn’t know anyone with kids who could give him any kind of advice but he did know someone who was about to have one.

“Hey, Jug,” he says into his phone. “Can you meet me today? And bring Betty.”

 

 

  
“So you’re not dating this girl,” Betty says, “but you have been sleeping together and now she’s pregnant, and she wants you to be involved?”

“Thats the bullet points, yeah.”

She blows out a breath. “I feel for you. That’s kind of a mess.”

Sweet Pea groans, sliding down in the booth seat.

“I know our situations are different. I mean, you planned your baby. But, shit, having a kid is fucking terrifying. How do you deal?”

Betty shrugs. “We’re just taking it a day at a time. But don’t be fooled – we’re scared shitless.”

“You are?” he asks, sitting up straighter.

“Of course,” Jughead laughs. “We’re going to be responsible for a tiny human being who will completely rely on us for everything it needs. That’s the scariest shit I’ve ever heard.”

He frowns. “But you guys seem so happy and excited.”

“Well, we are,” Betty agrees. “But we’re scared, too. I’ve had to talk Jughead down more than once.”

“There’s a whole lot going on, emotionally,” Jughead quips.

Their confession does make him feel better. Jughead and Betty’s relationship was probably the most stable one he had ever been around and if they were terrified of having a baby, what hope did the rest of them have?

“How did you...” He trails off, voice losing it’s power as he finally admits aloud what he’s been too embarrassed to say. “How did you know you’d love your baby?”

“It’s different for me.” Betty smiles and runs her hand over her belly. “I can feel her moving and it’s proof that she’s there, inside of me, not just some abstract idea. She’s part of me, physically.”

His eyes flicker over to Jughead.

“She’s part of me, too,” he says. “It’s all primal. There’s this little thing now, that’s half-me and half-the person I love, and all I want to do is protect her. I think that comes first – being protective. Then the love.”

Sweet Pea leans forward, running his fingers over his knuckles, tracing the ink there. It’s a habit he’s had for years, ever since he got them tattooed, and a sure sign that he’s nervous.

“But Jug... I don’t love Stacey.”

“That’s okay,” Betty assures him and reaches out across the table to hold his hand. “You don’t have to love her but you’ll love your child. You will.”

“And what’s the alternative?” Jughead asks. “Knowing your kid is out there in the world but you have no clue who they are or what they look like?”

That didn’t feel right to him, not at all. He couldn’t do that to his child. He knew what is was like to feel like a parent didn't care about you and he wouldn’t wish that feeling on anybody.

He sighs. “You’re right. I’d fucking hate that.”

His lips tip up into a small smile then and he squeezes Betty’s fingers, still wrapped around his own.

“Thank you.”

 

 

  
As he steps out of the shower the next morning, he looks at the dog tags hanging on the mirror and slides the metal between his fingers.

They were a sign of bravery, proof that his dad had fought for something. He wasn’t a coward; he had gone to Afghanistan to fight for his country, something not everyone felt they could do. Sweet Pea wasn’t a coward either – but he had been acting like one. He may not have gone to war but he never backed down from a challenge and had the back of the people he cared about.

He needed to pull his head out of his ass and call Stacey.

As if she knew, when he enters his bedroom and picks up his phone there is a message from her. It’s an appointment time, for an ultrasound at a Planned Parenthood in lower Manhattan.

_I’d really like it if you were there._

He had an hour until the appointment but it would take him a while to get there from Brooklyn. He changes quickly, scrubs his wet hair with a towel, and races out of his building to the train station. He calls Jerry on his way and accepts his job offer. He had to start being a responsible adult and having a higher income was definitely a part of that.

When enters the Planned Parenthood waiting room he scans the area for Stacey but can’t find her anywhere.

“Hey, excuse me. I’m here for an appointment with Stacey Martinez at eleven,” he tells the receptionist.

“Stephen Shaw?” He nods his head. “She said to let you in. She’s in room 203, on the right.”

“Thanks.”

He rushes down the hallway and checks himself before just bursting into the room. He knocks twice and then pokes his head inside.

Stacey is laid out across a long chair, her shirt rolled up to expose her gel-covered stomach, with a woman beside her next to a big, white machine.

“Stephen.” Her smile is wide and beautiful, her whole face lighting up. “I’m so glad you came.”

“I’m here, I’m here,” he says softly, taking the chair from the corner of the room and dragging it close to the bed.

He takes a seat beside her and immediately reaches for her hand, fingers wrapping tight around hers.

An image of Stacey’s uterus appears on the screen and the technician takes her time to explain what they’re seeing, pointing out the shape of the baby. Sweet Pea watches, fascinated, trying to catalogue every little bit of information that she gives them.

“And this is the baby’s heartbeat,” she says, as a steady drum begins to fill the room and in that moment he feels it, the thing that Jughead was talking about.

He wanted to protect this baby, this little extension of himself. He didn’t know if he’d be any good at it, and he’d probably make a shitload of mistakes, but that was okay, because he was going to try. And that's what mattered.

 


	5. envy

_i like my girls just like i like my honey;_  
_sweet, a little selfish_  
_i like my women like i like my money;_  
_green, a little jealous_

 

  
7.

When Veronica is six, her abuelita tells her about the seven sins, the cardinal sins, the sins that lead the way to a life of immorality.

“These sins will find you, they always do,” she says, combing her fingers through Veronica’s hair. “But you have to do your best to fight them. Be a good person and confess your sins, and God will understand.”

Veronica doesn’t really get it, doesn’t know why eating too much food or feeling mad sometimes will get you sent to Hell, but she believes her. Her abuelita would never lie to her.

 

 

 

When she is seven, she commits one of those sins.

She knows she is lucky. Her daddy has a lot of money and her apartment is nice and she gets anything she wants. Even at her prep school, surrounded by other privileged little girls, she knows she has a particularly good life. She sees the looks the other girls give her when she wears her new, shiny mary-janes, or when her mommy buys her a black coat with fur around the collar, or when she gets a fluffy white kitten for her birthday that she names Penelope.

Other people want what she has.

She has friends – the jealousy doesn't lead to bullying – but even at such a young age, Veronica is very aware of how people view her. And she also knows how it makes her feel.

(Proud and pleased, but also a little mean. She was still nice. She wanted people to think she was nice.)

But there are still things that Veronica wants but doesn’t have; things that money can’t buy.

 

 

  
She stands at the open gates of her school, up on her tiptoes to peer over the other girl's heads and find her mother. Around her, her friends and classmates are being greeted by their parents – swept up into hugs or kissed on the cheek - before they’re ushered into a town car or walking off, hand-in-hand, down the street.

After a few seconds she spots Smithers stood beside the passenger door of her daddy’s town car, his uniform neat and pressed.

“Hi, Smithers,” she smiles, handing him her backpack as he holds out his hand.

He smiles back, opens the door. “Hello, Miss Veronica. How was your day?”

“It was good. We learned about fractions in Math and the teacher said I did a really good job.” She moves to climb inside the back of the door but pauses when she sees the empty backseat. “Oh.” She looks up at Smithers. “Where’s Mommy?”

“She had a meeting,” he replies, “but she’ll be home in time for dinner. She’s told Mary to make your favorite – chicken enchiladas.”

Veronica quickly corrects her disappointed expression, smiling brightly up at Smithers.

(Only seven, but she already knew how to lie with her face, how to show people what they wanted to see.)

The sinking feeling in her stomach settles into sadness and disappointment. As Smithers drives her through the busy Manhattan streets to her penthouse, she bites at her bottom lip to stop herself from crying.

She was a Lodge and Lodge’s had to look strong even when they didn’t feel it.

 

 

 

 

  
15.

Her father goes to jail and she feels like her world is falling apart.

Her mother doesn’t talk to her for weeks, locking herself in her bedroom with a bottle of wine, calling on the maid to bring her food whenever she demands it.

(They only had a few weeks left of this level of luxury and Hermione was making the most of it.)

Veronica does her best to hold it together, relying on her close-knit group of friends to get her through this time. It isn’t until she goes to school for the first time since her father’s sentencing that she realizes her group maybe isn’t as close as she once thought.

They ignore her, turn away from her, ostracize her like she had encouraged them to do to so many other girls in the past. She was a social pariah now; the daughter of a criminal who had fallen gracelessly off of her pedestal. It is a lonely time in Veronica’s life. No friends, no father, a mother that loved with her but was never around. She doesn’t know how to deal with this pain and misery.

She thinks she liked it better when she was the envy of everyone around her.

 

 

  
(A part of her – a secret, ashamed part – wonders if this is karma. Was this her penance for encouraging such sin in others, for the sins of her family, for the anger she had directed at people in the stereotypical role of ‘the mean girl’?

She doesn’t like to dwell on that thought too often. It hurts too much.)

 

 

  
On Veronica’s sixteenth birthday her mother comes into her bedroom when she wakes, with a gift in her hand and a smile on her face.

“Happy birthday, mija.”

It’s the first time she’s sought her out in weeks, finally leaving the solace of her bedroom.

She takes a seat at the edge of her bed and reaches out to cup her cheek, thumb stroking across her cheek. It’s the most affectionate gesture she’s received since they embraced, sobbing, in the courtroom.

Veronica lifts the lid on the gift box, gasping when she sees what is inside.

“Oh my god. Mom! This is amazing. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

She removes the Valentino handbag from the box, admiring the shape and the leather and the clasp. She had been staring at it longingly for months, in magazines and store windows and billboards, and now she had it in her hands.

Hermione smiles but her eyes are sad.

“You have other gifts in the living room but I wanted to get you something extra special. This year has been tough for us all and I wanted to treat you while we still have they money to do so. Plus, it’s not everyday you turn sixteen. You deserve something beautiful.”

“I love it, Mom. Thank you so much.”

Hermione’s eyes brighten with something more genuine.

“Only the best for my darling girl.”

 

 

  
Two days later, her mother calls her down to the dining room. She is seated at the end of the large dining table, hands folded, expression guarded.

She takes a seat at the table, eyebrows knitting together. “Mom? What’s going on?”

“I have some news. And I didn’t want to tell you on your birthday but it can’t wait any longer.”

Veronica only half-listens as her mother informs her they’re moving away, back to the town where she grew up, out of the city and away from the mess their lives have become. It’s for the best, she assures her, and her father agrees. All Veronica can focus on is the chance to get away, to start fresh. She could escape the wealth and rumors that surrounded her in New York. And maybe she’d hate it, being in a place so small, but Veronica has always liked a challenge.

“So what’s this town called?”

“Riverdale.”

 

 

 

 

  
16.

Life in a small town is an adjustment. Veronica is very aware of her privilege here and her ability to slip back into old habits. There is money in Riverdale, too – redheaded and angry, founded in maple syrup, and now surrounded by the scandal of a son’s death.

She doesn’t want any part of that. She doesn’t want to be envied, she wants to be liked. This was her chance to start over, to become something better than the person she had been in New York. Taking the easy option and falling in line with Cheryl Blossom – falling into the drama and the bitchiness – was not a good decision.

 

 

  
(She is tempted by the drama for one, brief moment.

A stolen kiss in a dark closet, her hands in his red hair and his lips pressed to hers. She can taste the mint on his tongue, feel the hard panes of his body against hers, and she knows it’s bad to want him but she just can’t help herself.

Then she sees Betty; sweet, beautiful Betty who had been so welcoming and was clearly infatuated with her best friend.

She couldn’t embrace the drama, not here. She had to be good. She was a different person now.)

 

 

  
Being Betty’s friend is easy and brings Veronica nothing but joy.

She’d never admit it, but she doesn’t think she’s ever actually had a best friend until Betty. There had been girls and guys in the past who had hung on her every word and showered her with praise, but they weren’t really her friends. She sees that now. She was just the it-girl at that time, the one you should be friends with if you wanted to matter.

Betty isn’t like that. She is genuine, kind, loves easily and is loved in return. There is darkness there – Veronica has witnessed it – but it’s not vindictive and shallow. Betty isn’t driven by material things and what she can gain from others. She likes Veronica, not what she has. And that feels so good it makes unfamiliar warmth bloom in her chest.

 

 

  
(She has to remember this, the goodness of Betty, everytime she sees red hair in the hallways or catches his eye during a pep rally. She had Jughead now but it still felt like a betrayal.

He couldn’t be hers and she needed to accept it already.)

 

 

  
Jughead’s party is a disaster and her father has threatened her and she somehow finds herself curled up with Archie on his father’s threadbare couch.

He is a unexpected kindred spirit, as lost and disappointed and confused as she is. He can’t understand why he keeps wrecking stuff and neither can she. But she likes that she can tell him that, can be honest with him about her fears and failures.

(And he’s so pretty she could cry. So all-American, all square jawline and thick brows and a killer smile.)

Veronica gives in to the temptation that has been there since she arrived in town. She kisses him on that couch, in his lap, a little tipsy on booze and totally drunk on him.

She keeps wrecking things but in that moment, she can’t find it in herself to care.

 

 

 

Betty has found her soulmate and Veronica feels jealous. Not over Jughead, but the relationship there. The pull towards each other and the unwavering support.

And she knows Archie feels it, too – saw the look in his eye that day at Southside High. He had told her he wanted that, the thing they were both too afraid to name, and Veronica silently agrees.

 

 

  
They are blanketed in darkness, pushing away each other’s clothes as they move through the room and toward her bed.

_I want to be that for you._

He wanted to be good for her and he already was – _so_ good. Protective and sweet, willing to stand by her and support her when her father returned. It is almost embarrassing how easy it is to fall for him, for the boyish charm and quiet honesty.

She wants to be good for him, too. As much as it scares her, finding the same connection Betty had found in Jughead seemed so appealing, especially when Archie was the one she wanted it with.

“We’ve had this date with each other from the very beginning, Archie.”

They smile in the darkness until Veronica covers his smile with her kiss.

 

 

 

 

  
17.

Veronica is wholly unequipped for this.

She can be the sexy girlfriend, the sweet girlfriend, the one that gives blunt, honest advice but does it with affection. She doesn’t know how to be there for someone when their father gets shot. But she is trying; she is trying really fucking hard.

And surprisingly, it feels easy, almost natural, to take him into her arms and let him sob against her chest. His vulnerability and pain pull at something in her chest, and Veronica would never leave Archie when he feels like this. It just wasn’t possible.

 

 

  
She feels like she’s in an alternate reality, one where she stayed in New York and never stopped partying and dabbling in drugs and doing reckless things that she’d regret in the morning. But then she feels Archie’s arm around her waist, a comfort like no other, a sign that this life she has found in this small town is real.

She doesn’t understand Betty’s words or her actions, the malice in her voice as she opens up old wounds and crushes something inside of Veronica. It wasn’t like her, it just wasn’t. And Veronica wasn’t that girl anymore.

But then she encounters Nick - pushy and predatory and looking to exercise his power - and she thinks she may have done this. Veronica has brought this darkness with her; he is from her former world, a world that is vapid and heartless and sometimes cruel.

Veronica had left it all behind and now she remembers why.

 

 

  
(He does it again, almost hurting Cheryl in the worst way, and Veronica doesn’t remember ever feeling as good as she did when she was kicking Nick’s ribs and hearing his cries of pain.)

 

 

  
He loves her. And she loves him. 

But she can’t tell him that.

Her resentment towards her parents grows stronger with every passing day. She doesn’t think she could ever hate them - no matter what crazy thing they choose to put her through - but she is so angry at them for not teaching her to love. Wasn’t that a fundamental job of a parent?

They have taught her so many things – how to walk, how to talk, how to be succeed and how to be admired. But they never taught her this one thing and now she is hurting herself. She had a boy who adored her, a love that people would be envious of, and in her panic, she had destroyed it.

Alone in the back of her father’s car, she cries and forces herself not to look back.

 

 

  
An unfamiliar feeling twists in Veronica’s stomach.

She has been jealous before, has wanted something someone else has, but never over a guy. That wasn’t her style, wasn’t the way she handled her relationships. And, if she’s being honest, she’s never had a reason to be jealous before.

She tries to focus on the positives. Archie was being honest with her about the kiss, was being upfront so she didn’t find out on her own and end up mad and hurt. And she appreciated that, she really did. It was a mistake, a one-time thing, and she wasn’t about to hold it against him or Betty.

The feeling still niggles at her, burning her up from the inside. She was choosing not to be angry about this but that didn’t mean she had to like it. This was uncharted territory and she needed to tread carefully.

 

 

  
The whole situation is so ridiculous that if she wasn’t so furious, she would laugh. Her boyfriend has been spying on her father, has been collecting information about him and feeding it to the FBI. 

He swears he's stopped, gets down on his knees in front of her as he pleads with her to believe him.

“We can’t break up over this,” he tells her. “It was a mistake, a stupid mistake. And I know you won’t believe me but I did it to protect you. Because I love you.”

Veronica believes him – she truly does – but this was her family he was messing with. They were shady and untrustworthy and often made her life harder than it needed to be, but they were all she had and she kind of hates him for trying to ruin that.

She pulls her hands out his grasp and will herself not to cry. Her expression is stoic, made of ice.

“I need some time,” she murmurs and walks away before she can see his face fall.

 

 

 

 

 

18.

He is singing outside her window and she can no longer stay away.

What he did had hurt more than anything she’s ever experienced. Her father isn’t a good man - deep down she knew that - but it’s hard to admit that the man who raised you, who has given you a life filled with privilege and expensive things, isn’t the person he should be.

Still, she knew Archie had her best interests at heart. He was looking out for her in a way she doesn’t think anyone ever has. 

And she never could resist that smile.

“You can’t hurt me like this again,” she murmurs between heated kisses. “I couldn’t take it.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “I swear.”

He pushes her down onto her bed and kisses a path from her neck to her breasts to her stomach, until he finds the place between her thighs and loves her the best way he knows how.

 

 

  
She can see it in his eyes. He thinks he’s changing her mind, convincing her that they can make this work.

He hasn’t changed her mind. Not at all.

Long distance doesn't work, and even if it does, it takes so much effort. And she doesn’t want that for either of them. College is going to be stressful enough without the added pressure of a long-distance relationship. He won’t see it now – possibly ever – but she is doing this for him. She wants them to have fun, to enjoy college life and a whole new experience without the burden of distrust and distance.

In so many ways he has taught her how to love and this is _her_ loving _him_. She really, really hoped he’d understand that one day.

 

 

  
Their last night together is a memory she will never forget. The intense look in his eyes, the warmth of his breath across her skin, the pleasure he pulls from her and the sounds he makes as he comes inside of her.

He is an angel, the early morning sunlight filtering through the windows making his hair glow, an orange halo. She is sappy, so lovesick for him, and she both hates and loves what he has done to her.

He thinks she doesn’t hear him wake, tiptoeing around her bedroom as he slips back into his clothes and closes the door softly behind him. But she hears all of it, every movement.

She doesn’t blame him for leaving without saying goodbye; she would have done the same.

 

 

  
She returns to New York a different woman than before and this time she has friends; outsiders, people who will keep her accountable.

They go out to dinner their first night in New York: she, Betty and Jughead. It is her father’s treat, a four-course meal at one of her favorite restaurants and Veronica delights in seeing Jughead gorge on plate after plate of overpriced, pretentious food.

She thinks she’s really going to enjoy her new life in this city.

 

 

 

 

 

20.

Veronica finds no satisfaction in studying. Barnard was her dream school, somewhere she had always wanted to attend, but now that she’s here it isn’t the dream she thought it would be.

She knows her unwillingness to stand up to her parents is to blame. When she had told her father she wanted to apply to major in Human Rights and then apply to Columbia Law, he had laughed and dismissed her. Her father wanted her to study Economics, to give her the preparation she needed to take over the family business when the time was right. And she had reluctantly agreed, because her parents were paying and she didn’t feel that she could say no.

Now she is in her third year of schooling, apathetic to her major and only finding some joy in studying Human Rights as a minor.

It had been a tough three years filled with hard work that would never pay off and a sinking feeling that she was destroying an opportunity she had longed for. There really wasn’t much about college life that Veronica enjoyed.

 

 

  
Of course, she still sought satisfaction elsewhere.

 

 

  
Ben is the last in a long string of casual hook-ups.

Veronica meets people wherever she goes – in bars, in restaurants, in the library and the Park. She loves the clandestine nature of meeting beautiful people and spending one night together, and never seeing them again.

She sins repeatedly, falls in lust time and time again with people she hardly knows – the Wall Street broker she meets in P. J. Clarke’s, the hipster artist who tells her he wants to paint her, the pretty barista at her favorite coffee shop who writes her number on Veronica’s check. She had never thought of herself as someone who would have one night stands but she can’t deny the appeal of it all, the instant gratification. Veronica doesn’t want to fall in love again and sex without meaning makes life so much easier.

Then Ben comes along and tries to change her mind, and she decides that he might just be worth it.

 

 

  
He goes to her gym, has for two years. She had noticed him right away – the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the dark hair that he pulled back into a bun and somehow pulled off.

She doesn’t ever ask him out – she liked her gym and didn’t want to leave because of any post-one night stand awkwardness. But he works up the courage one day, approaches her as she steps off the treadmill and asks her if she’d like to get a coffee, and he is so charming that Veronica can’t help but say yes.

They go back to her apartment, his mouth tasting dark and delicious like the espresso he drank, his strong hands lifting her up onto her kitchen counter after they push their way inside. It is good, so good, a connection she hasn’t experienced in years. He learns her body so quickly, so easily, working her up and pushing her over the brink again and again.

He leaves afterwards with a request that she calls him. She doesn’t for six days, has an internal debate. He was sweet and handsome and made her feel better than anyone had in a while. But she did want more? Should it remain only a good memory?

She eventually calls him and he takes her out again. Then again, and again, until they’re on their fourth date and he is smiling at her across a dinner table and asking her if she wanted to make things exclusive. She says yes, because she really does like him and she thinks he could be good for her.

A month later, Betty calls and tells her of their plans for Archie’s birthday in the city, and _she was going to come, right?_ Veronica agrees, knowing that she should be over him after so many years, and makes plans to meet Betty at her place next weekend.

That night, Veronica dresses up in a slinky, sparkly dress that makes her feel sexy and lies when Ben calls and asks where she is going.

“I’m going out with my mother. She’s in town for the weekend.”

He doesn’t question it and tells her to have fun.

 

 

  
A lingering pressure in her head leaves her feeling nauseous and morose. Cheryl is unusually chirpy when she meets her for coffee, a wide smile on her face as she embraces her.

“Babe, you look like shit.”

Veronica smiles sarcastically. “Thanks.”

“What happened? Don’t tell me you went out for Ginger Spice’s birthday last night.”

“Unfortunately, yes. And now I’m really hungover.”

Cheryl laughs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. Must have been some night.”

Veronica tries to ignore the memory of Archie’s hands on her skin, his hurried whispers of affection as he moved inside of her.

“It was good,” she answers. Then lies, “I just don’t remember a lot of it.”

“That’s probably for the best.” She folds her hands on the table, leaning in conspiratorially. “So... tell me about the new man in your life. I’m mad that I don’t get to meet him while I’m here, so you at least have to give me all of the juicy details.”

Veronica usually loves these catch-ups with Cheryl. She came to the city for a week every summer before she went home for a few days. Veronica had ran into her during her first summer break, in a coffee shop similar to this one, and they had sat down to talk over skinny lattes. Now it had become a tradition, a yearly catch-up with someone Veronica felt she could be totally honest with and had become something of a confidant.

But today was not her day. She felt some guilt but she was not in the mood for gossiping over coffee, especially not after the night she’s had, the choices she’s made.

“Can I see a picture?”

Veronica reluctantly pulls out her phone and brings up a picture of her and Ben at the lake in Central Park.

Cheryl hums appreciatively. “He’s as gorgeous as you said he was.”

Veronica smiles tightly. “He’s great. He’s really good to me.”

“I loathe to admit this but I think I might be jealous,” Cheryl confesses. “Casual is fun but it’s so hard trying to balance everything with schoolwork. And you seem like you’ve got it all figured out – a new man, a life in the city, on track to graduating.”

“Yeah,” Veronica agrees weakly. “Things are going pretty well for me lately.”

The lie doesn’t fall off her tongue so easily but it makes her feel good, to hear someone – especially Cheryl – tell her that she has it altogether when she feels like she’s tailspinning and ruining everything around her.

“Well enough about you.” Cheryl quickly moves them on, turning the focus back to her. “I’ve made a big decision – I’m thinking of moving to Los Angeles after I graduate.”

 

 

  
Veronica checks her messages obsessively for a week but she gets nothing – no reply, no acknowledgment. It’s like their night together never happened.

In a way, Veronica is glad. She can move on and put it behind her. It’s not like they were going to be together anyway. It was a momentary lapse in judgement. Still, the guilt eats away at her. She can see Ben falling, seeking more from their relationship than she knows she’s able to give and it definitely has to end.

She takes his hand in hers, a sad smile on her face. “Ben, we need to talk.”

 

 

 

 

 

21.

She returns to Riverdale for the first time in three years for Thanksgiving.

Her parents have always come to the city during the holidays, putting themselves up in a nice hotel and treating her to dinner at one of their favorite spots. 

This year is different. Her abuelita is in town, along with some of her aunts and cousins, and her parents want her at home to eat with the family. She is an adult now, living independently with a job and her own money, yet she still cannot find the courage tell her mother and father no.

 

 

  
Dinner is a tense affair, filled with thinly-veiled insults and sharp looks. Her grandmother is oblivious to it all, her concentration waning the older and more weary she becomes. But Veronica sees it all; sees the disapproval in her uncle's eyes as he glares at her father, the man who was never good enough for his sister. No one is particularly fond of her father and even she can see why. Arrogant and proud at the head of the table, he addressed her family as if they were in a business meeting and he was talking to clients.

Veronica had been forbidden from drinking during the meal and now she was in need of a strong drink.

Kevin is still in San Francisco, having dinner with his boyfriend’s family, so he’s not an option. She calls Betty and Jughead, who she knows are also in town, but they are busy visiting family and can’t get away. She briefly considers calling Archie, thumb hovering over his name in her contacts, before she slides her phone back into her pocket and decided _fuck it_ , she was going alone.

 

 

  
She gets a cab to Greendale, to a small bar she knows of there. It’s a little outside of town and Veronica’s hoping that means she won’t run into anybody.

It is quiet inside, motown playing softly on the speakers and only a few other patrons inside. She takes a seat at the empty bar, surveying the shelves of alcohol as she waits for the barkeep to approach.

“Hey, what are you having?”

Her eyes slide over to the barman at the sound of his vaguely familiar voice. Recognition dawns, clear on his face, as they make eye contact. She smiles.

“Sweet Pea? Jughead’s Serpent buddy?”

His mouth ticks up in a half-smile. “Thats me. Veronica Lodge, right? Didn’t think you would ever come back here once you got out.”

“My family still lives here. I’m home for the holidays.”

He nods. “So what do you want?”

“I’ll have a scotch and soda with a lime.”

“Nice.” He pats the bar. “Coming right up.”

Veronica watches him pour her drink, his back to her as he grabs a bottle of scotch from the shelf. She remembers him in high school, tall and dark, with a cocky confidence she wasn’t sure he’d earned. She’d been so wrapped up in Archie back then, her first and only love, that she’d never really spared him a glance.

She’s looking now, eyes trailing over the ink covering his neck and the muscles in his heavily-tattooed arms. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, tight across his shoulder blades, his hair so long it brushes the collar.

“There you go. One scotch and soda.”

“Thanks.”

She takes a sip, eyes closing in relief and pleasure, a little groan escaping. She licks her lips at the sweet taste and when she opens her eyes she finds him watching her.

“Good?”

She smiles. “Really good.”

“So what have you been up to?” he asks, leaning his elbows onto the bar. A towel is thrown over his shoulder and his hands are linked in front of him, showing off the tattoos across his knuckles.

“School, mainly. I went to Barnard College in New York. And now I’m working, an internship at an accounting firm.”

“Cool. That sounds awesome.” He sounds sincere, as if he truly is intrigued by her dull existence in the city.

“What about you? What have you been up to?”

He shrugs. “Not much. Still living in Riverdale, still running with the Serpents. But that’s changing soon. I’m actually moving to New York in the new year.”

“You are? How come?”

“Needed a change. And where better to go than New York?”

“Right.” She smiles tightly.

She’d had that attitude too once; the mentality of new city, new start. Unfortunately it hadn’t really gone to plan.

“Well New York is great. There’s so much to do. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait.” He straightens up then, grabs the cigarette balanced behind his ear. “Hey, are you sticking around? I’m going outside for a smoke but I wanted to talk some more.”

That had her attention. She hasn’t had a cigarette since her sophomore year of college. It was a bad habit she had picked up at school and while she had stopped, she still missed it. All the time.

“Can I have one?”

He quirks one eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” He nods towards her glass. “Don’t you want to finish your drink?”

She drains the remnants of her drink in one swallow, wincing at the sharp taste. Sweet Pea barks out a laugh of disbelief.

“Lets go.”

 

 

 

They stand outside the bar, coats wrapped around them to ward off the autumn chill, cigarettes poised at their lips. She’d forgotten about this – the standing outside in awful temperatures just to get that hit of nicotine. She definitely hasn’t missed this part of smoking. But God, it felt so good.

He exhales, dark eyes focusing in on her through the smoke.

“Be honest. Did you even remember me when you first saw me?”

“What?” She laughs. “Of course I remembered you. You’re six-foot-two with neck tattoos. You’re kind of hard to miss.”

He laughs, smoke escaping his lips in wisps.

“I remembered you,” he says, gaze suddenly intense. He’s watching her, watching her reactions. “I used to think you were so hot.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You did?”

“Oh yeah. You were always wearing those tight little mini skirts and heels. And you were Andrews’ girl, which made it even sweeter.”

Veronica quickly takes a drag, the mention of Archie throwing her off the way it always seemed to.

“Well I’m not his girl anymore.”

“I know.” He smirks. “He’s an idiot for letting you go but I can’t say I’m sad about it.”

Her own lips quirk up into a flirtatious smile. She’s enjoying this back and forth, the intense eye contact and hint of teasing.

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

“What’s your real name?” she asks, cigarette poised between her fingers.

He seems surprised by her question, a boyish smile taking over his face as he replies, “Stephen.”

She nods. “Stephen,” she repeats, testing out the sound.

He stamps his cigarette out on the ground, buries his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he leans up against the wall, still watching her.

“So what about me?”

“What about you?”

“What did you think about me in high school?”

She shrugs, looks up at him from beneath her lashes.

“I dig a bad boy as much as the next girl.”

 

 

  
As soon as his shift ends he is grabbing her hand and leading out to his car. The drive to his apartment is short, the silence between them filled with low music and heated glances whenever he takes his eyes off the road.

“Do you do this often?” he asks as he pins her up against his door.

She smiles up at him. “Hook up with former classmates? Can’t say that I do.”

He shakes his head, amused.

“You’re trouble,” he tells her, lips inches away from hers.

Her hands wind around his neck, pulling him just that little bit closer.

“So I’ve been told,” she murmurs, and leans up on her toes to kiss him.

 

 

 

 

 

25.

Veronica sweeps some of the hair back from his face before leaning down to kiss his cheek. She pulls away but pauses when she feels his hand close around her wrist.

“Where are you going?” he mumbles, face buried in his pillow.

“Home. I have to be at work in two hours.”

“Call in sick,” Sweet Pea demands, tugging her until she falls back into his bed.

She giggles, bracing herself above him. He is sleepy, eyes barely open, and her hair surrounds them like some kind of veil as she smiles down at him.

“You know I can’t. And I have lunch with Betty and Cheryl today.”

He huffs, hands sliding down her waist and over her ass. He grasps it, pulling her against him.

“You suck,” he murmurs before he leans up to kiss her.

“I think I demonstrated that last night.” She winks at him, giggling at his frustrated groan, and climbs off the bed. “Come over tonight. I’ll cook.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

He sits up in bed, running a hand through his messy hair. His sheets pool around his waist, dog tags lying in the center of his bare chest.

Sometimes it really was hard to leave him.

She slips her heels back on and blows him a kiss over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Later.”

She hails a cab outside his building, fixing her hair and make-up in the backseat as they make the drive from Brooklyn to Manhattan. She looks bright-eyed and happy, despite the mascara smudged beneath her eye; typical of her after a night spent with Sweet Pea.

 

 

  
“How’s it going at the new firm?” Betty asks, blowing on the surface of her hot coffee.

Veronica shrugs, eyes focused on buttering her bagel.

“It’s okay.”

“Oh my god, you hate it.” Cheryl’s statement is punctuated by an incredulous laugh. “Why are you working there if you don’t like it?”

“Because it was good money. And not many other places are willing to hire an economist with little experience.”

Cheryl rolls her eyes. “That lack of passion in your voice whenever you say that word is so depressing.”

She frowns. “What word?”

Her lip curls. “Economist.”

“Cheryl,” Betty snaps, chastizing. “You said you’d be supportive.”

Veronica drops her knife. “Have you guys been talking about me?”

Betty sighs, eyes softening. “It was just earlier and only because... well you’ve seemed so unhappy since you started your new job.”

“I’m not... unhappy,” she argues weakly. “I mean, did I think would be spending my life staring at statistics and stocks? No, I didn’t. But it’s not the worst job in the world.”

“No,” Cheryl agrees. “But you’re so smart and driven. You could have done anything you wanted, especially with your family’s money.” Betty shoots her a look. “What? It’s true.”

Veronica takes a bite out of her bagel, chewing in the silence that hovers over them. Irritation flares at Cheryl’s implication before it settles into something much sadder – resignation.

“She’s right,” Veronica admits aloud for the first time ever. Their heads snap up at her confession. “I only majored in Economics because my dad wanted me to. And he was paying, so I didn’t feel like I could say no. That’s why I minored in Human Rights. It’s what I would have chosen to study.”

“Really? What would you have done with that?”

“Applied to Columbia Law,” she replies. “That was my plan, ever since senior year of high school. And with my Barnard diploma I have a really good shot at getting a place. Or at least, I _did_.”

She feels a strange mix of emotions, admitting this to two of her closest friends. On the one hand, she is relieved to finally be telling someone what she has always wanted, and on the other she is sad, wondering what could have been.

“You should do it,” Betty says firmly. Veronica’s eyes flicker over to her, surprised. “This is what you’ve always wanted, right? And there’s nothing stopping you. Columbia Law is like, what? Three years? You’d have a Law degree by the age of thirty.”

Something blossoms in Veronica’s chest and she identifies it before she has the chance to quash it – hope.

“But what about my dad? He’d kill me if he knew I was applying.”

“Oh, please.” Cheryl waves her hand dismissively. “You’ve got your father wrapped around your little finger. You can definitely talk him round.”

An unconscious smile forms on her face as she truly considers Law school for the first time in her life. Could she really do this? Could this become a reality?

They continue to talk into the hour, catching each other up on what was happening in their lives – Betty had some free-lance work lined up at the Huffington Post and Cheryl is looking for an apartment in LA. All the while, Veronica feels distracted, unable to stop thinking about the possibilities for her future.

“Jug talked to Archie yesterday,” Betty says conversationally. “His new job in Jersey is going really well and he’s started seeing a girl. Just casual at first but now they’ve made it official.”

And just like that, her afternoon is ruined.

(It’s been five years since she even laid eyes on him. She shouldn’t feel like this.)

“That’s great,” Veronica smiles. “I’m really happy for him.”

Something green and ugly swirls inside of her and she doesn’t like it one bit. On her plate sits her bagel, half-eaten and discarded.

 

 

 

 

 

26.

The day after her twenty-sixth birthday, Veronica applies to Columbia Law. She uses the credits she’s already gained at Barnard and submits an application, stomach twisting with nerves and anticipation as she clicks ‘send’.

That night she visits Sweet Pea; slips into his apartment and then into his bed, lets him kiss her and worship her and act like she’s his. This is the last time. It had to end now. 

They’d had a good run. Almost five years of fun and sex and scratching an itch whenever it arised.

(She could ignore his wistful glances, the affectionate touches that lingered too long, the things he murmured against her skin that he thought she couldn’t hear.

She had to, for his sake. She really liked Stephen – in another life, could have loved him – and she doesn’t want him to get hurt.)

It was time for her to focus and get her shit together. No more causal and no more recklessness. She had to think about her future.

She can feel his eyes on her as she dresses, slipping her shirt over her shoulders.

“This is over, isn’t it?”

She cups his face in her hand and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. At least she hadn’t had to say the words.

 

 

 

 

 

28.

There was a time when she hadn’t been sure if she wanted to get married.

Love has always been such a scary concept to her, bringing with it anxiety and fear. And she had grown up in a world where her friends had had two or three step-parents, could instantly reel off which marriage their father was now on. It had horrified her to hear it but she doesn’t suppose her own parents marriage was any better – they had stayed together but did they really love each other?

Marriage hadn’t ever really seemed that appealing but she thinks she gets it now. Watching Betty and Jughead laugh in each other’s arms, always touching in some way or another, eyes constantly finding each other, even in this crowded room. They were a team, a unit, and it seemed like a really fucking nice way to live your life.

Guests were leaving now as the happy couple prepared to leave for the airport. Jughead looks happier than she’s ever seen him, a smile she wasn’t sure he was even capable of before this day, lighting up his whole face. Beside him stands Archie, fulfilling his best man duties by saying goodbye to guests with the groom while Betty changed into something more comfortable.

She watches him from across the room, so handsome in his suit. She remembers how he had felt earlier that night, body pressed against hers as they swayed to the music. She wanted him, even now, after all this time. She’s beginning to think she always will.

No one had ever loved her like he did and she doesn’t have any interest in loving anyone else. She knew in her heart that they should be together and she just couldn’t be with anyone else.

_Be brave, Ronnie. You owe it to yourself._

Stephen’s words from earlier in the night ring in her ears, an encouragement she hadn’t expected. She had to take a chance and put herself out there.

She waits for Jughead to leave to find his bride and then crosses the venue, chin held high.

He smiles when he sees her. “Ronnie, hey–“

“I need to tell you something,” she blurts out, cutting him off.

His eyebrows rise. “Okay...”

“I miss you. I always miss you,” she confesses, words rushed and low. “Everyone is always telling me I have my whole life together, that everything seems so perfect on the surface so it must be true, but it isn’t. Not at all.

“I’m a mess.” She smiles sadly, giving a little shrug. “I’m almost thirty and I’m still in school, I’ve only just learnt how to say no to my parents, and I’m still pining for my first boyfriend ten years after we broke up.”

His face softens, eyes sad. “Ronnie, you know–“

She holds up her hand. “Please, Archie. Just... let me get this out.” She takes a shaky breath. “I’ve been living my life and making mistakes and discovering amazing things and I’ve been doing it all without you, and I don’t like it one bit. You should have been next to me. You wanted to give us a try, you were willing to make it work between us, and because I couldn’t do it I’m now living life without you. And I don’t want to anymore.” She licks her lips, tears welling up in her eyes. “Please tell me you feel the same,” she begs quietly. “Please tell me you miss me too.”

Archie sighs. “Are you kidding me? Of course I feel the same, I always have. You’re it for me, Ronnie.” He reaches up to cup her neck, eyes now sparkling with warmth and affection. “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?” he says softly, lips turning up into a smile.

She nods, “That’s okay,” her own smile in place as she reaches up on her tiptoes to meet him halfway.

 

 

 

 

 

30.

Archie already knows what’s written in the letter, can tell by the huge smile that spreads across her face.

“You did it?” he asks.

“I did it!” she yells, bouncing up and down until she jumps into his arms.

He catches her easily, arms wrapping around her waist. He is so solid and reliable, always ready to catch her. She buries her smile into his neck.

“I’m proud of you, babe.”

She pulls back to look at him, hands linked behind his neck. “I can’t believe I’m actually graduating from Law school. This is surreal.”

“You shouldn’t doubt yourself,” Archie says, brushing some of her hair back. “You’re one of the smartest women I know. You were always going to graduate.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Archiekins. I still have to take the Bar exam. It could all go south from here.”

“Nah. There’s no way,” he says dismissively, boyish smile on his face. “You’ll ace it. I know you will.”

She grins, his faith in her infectious. “God, I hope you’re right.”

 

 

  
Cheryl comes to town for a celebratory dinner the night before her graduation. Betty and Jughead come too, as well as Kevin, who flies in from San Francisco just for the occasion. She doesn’t question the fact that all of her closest friends and her boyfriend are the same people she knew in high school. They were the people who had loved and trusted her when she was a spoiled New York socialite looking for a new start, and she only wanted to surround herself with good people.

Kevin gushes over Betty as soon as he sees her.

“Can I?” he asks, reaching out towards her belly and she nods, smiling. “Oh my god. You’re actually having a baby. You’re going to be _parents_.”

“I know how you feel, Kevin," Cheryl agrees. "I think everyone is surprised that Betty even lets Jughead touch her, never mind procreate with her."

Jughead smiles sardonically, leaning back in his chair.

“Man, I’ve missed you, Cheryl.”

“Enough about me,” Betty says, waving everyone away. She is in her second trimester now, feeling tired and uncomfortable and bigger than ever. She could only take so much fuss. “This is Veronica’s night. We should be celebrating her.”

“Indeed. A toast,” Kevin announces, raising her glass of wine. “To one of the most fierce and intelligent women I’ve ever met. I pity any man or woman that has to argue with you in a court of law.”

Veronica laughs, tucking herself into Archie’s side as he wraps his arm around her.

They clink their drinks together. “To Veronica!”

 

 

  
Veronica stands on stage, one person amongst a sea of pale blue cap and gowns. Her name is announced and she walks across the stage to a chorus of loud cheers and hollers. She shakes the Dean’s hand with a smile, takes her diploma and moves to stand beside her classmates.

As she looks out across the audience she finds him easily, situated between her father and Betty, a huge grin on his face. He looks so happy for her, her constant cheerleader, and she’s so proud to call him hers.

She clutches the diploma tight in her hand and thinks she may finally have everything she’s ever wanted.

 


	6. greed

_i wanna, i wanna, i wanna be adored_  
_i wanna, i wanna, i gotta be adored_

 

  
10.

Cheryl knocks the bowl onto the floor again, watching the food hit the hardwood and splatter. Their nanny, Beth, sighs heavily and bends down to clean up the mess.

“Cheryl, please stop doing this,” she begs.

“But I don’t _want_ it,” she whines, crossing her arms across her chest.

“But it’s good,” Beth insists, then gestures to Jason’s almost clean bowl. “See. Jason likes it. Maybe if you tried some you’d like it too.”

“I don’t _want it_ ,” Cheryl snaps, dark eyes narrowing. “I want something else.”

Beth turns away, muttering under her breath as she searches through the cupboards for an alternative.

“When are mommy and daddy coming home?”

“Later. They’ve gone to dinner.”

“What time is later?” Cheryl asks, watching her nanny’s irritation rise. She knew she was pushing her buttons but she hadn’t really reacted. Yet.

“I don’t know, Cheryl. In a few hours, when you’re asleep.” She pulls out a box of mac and cheese and holds it up. “Mac and cheese?”

She hums, as if thinking. “No.”

Beth huffs and opens another cupboard. “Pasta and sauce?” she asks, holding up a jar of ragu.

Cheryl nods. “That sounds good.”

Beth looks relieved and moves to the stove to heat up some water.

“Stop it,” Jason hisses beside her.

Her head snaps over to him. “What?”

“You’re being a brat,” he snaps, pushing away his now empty plate. “You shouldn’t be mean. Beth is nice. And if you keep being mean, mommy will find another nanny and I don’t want another nanny.”

“Fine,” she spits and crosses her arms across her chest again.

She waits in silence for her dinner and then eats the pasta quickly, red sauce staining her mouth in her haste.

“May I be excused?” she asks Beth, smile sickly sweet.

Beth raises her eyebrows, surprised to see her empty plate, and tells her she can go.

Cheryl rushes out of the dining room and upstairs to her bedroom. She can hear Jason call her name behind her but she doesn’t look back. She would go be a brat elsewhere if it bothered him so much.

 

 

  
She is brushing her hair at her vanity when Jason enters her bedroom.

“Hi,” he says softly, standing beside her.

“Hi,” she says back but doesn’t look up at him.

He is quiet for a moment before he asks, “Do you want me to brush it for you?

She bites her lip and then nods, holding the brush out to him. He moves behind her, dragging the brush carefully through her hair in practiced strokes. He had been doing this for years, ever since she got her first Girls World when she was four and wanted to make her hair look beautiful, too.

“I’m sorry I called you a brat,” he murmurs.

“That’s okay,” she assures him. She looks up into her mirror, meets his eye in the reflection. “I was being a brat.”

He chuckles, shakes his head. “I meant it. You shouldn’t be mean to Beth. She’s a good nanny.”

“I know,” she sighs. “But... why do we even need a nanny? Why can’t mommy just take care of us, like she used to?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Maybe mommy isn’t very good at taking care of us anymore.” He presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “Thats why I’ll take care of you. And you take care of me. Yeah?”

She nods, eyes falling to her lap as she smiles. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to bed,” he says, placing the brush on the vanity and walking towards her door.

“JJ?” she calls out before he can leave.

She runs at him, throwing her arms around his neck and laying her head on his shoulder. He catches her weight easily, holding her tight.

“Sorry for being a brat. Please don’t hate me.”

“I won’t ever hate you.” He sounds like he’s laughing but she doesn’t care. He tugs the end of her hair and pulls away. “Night, Cherry Blossom.”

She smirks. “Night, JJ.”

 

 

 

 

  
16.

Jason is going to run away, as far away from their parents as he can, and Cheryl’s world is falling apart. Jason won’t tell her what is really going on but she knows he’s keeping something from her.

At first she thinks it’s Polly, whispering in his ear and trying to convince him to leave everything – her – behind, to start a new life somewhere. She and Polly were the definition of frenemies, or at least they had been until she up and left town. She knew of her distaste for their family and the way they treated Jason.

There is also tension at home, between him and her father. She assumes it’s because of his refusal to break up with the Cooper girl, despite their parents numerous attempts to convince him otherwise. She’s never quite understood her parents outright hatred of Polly but she’d never felt the need to question it either.

She asks him about his plans a few times but he always dismisses her, tells her she shouldn’t worry and if she needed to know he would tell her. She tries to accept it - the less she knows the better - but there is still an awful feeling settling in her stomach.

 

 

  
He keeps making plans, a strategy to move away to another town, and Cheryl isn’t involved in any of them.

She feels like a child, jealous and petty, all because her brother isn’t paying attention to her anymore. It’s stupid, she’s aware, and she feels pathetic and needy. And if she had the same courage he did, she knows she would have been following, leaving their wretched, stoic home behind. It’s just–

Jason has _always_ been there. He’s always been the one who cared when their parents didn’t. And now he was going, and leaving her with them, and she would be more alone than ever.

Cheryl couldn’t be Jason’s favorite forever – they had to become independent someday – but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

 

 

 

 

 

17.

Lace gloves, white dress, a rowing boat.

They had been surrounded by the most beautiful part of their home, hands joined, ready to say goodbye to life as they knew it. They had made it to the other side and hugged one last time, before she sent him on his way. Later they found her, Riverdale’s answer to Katherine Hepburn, crying so convincingly over her brother’s tragic accident.

All of their planning had finally paid off.

 

 

  
That day on the river wasn’t supposed to end like this.

 

 

  
For a time, her brother had been so admired in their town – handsome, athletic, charismatic. He was meant for great things, a great life; a life far away from their awful family.

Not a brutal slaying that left him hideous and discarded on the riverbed.

She knows she is feared now but it’s not in the way that she used to crave. There is no eagerness to please her to gain her respect or cowering beneath her glare. Now they are scared to upset her, to say the wrong thing and send her spiralling.

Everyone is waiting for Cheryl Blossom to crack and no one wants to be on the receiving end of that meltdown.

 

 

  
Veronica takes her into her arms, her hold tight and comforting as she sobs against her shoulder. She knows she is making a scene and her parents will be furious, but they had to know. They all had to know that he was a victim of circumstance, the family he been born into. From the minute they were born, they had been set up to fail.

“We failed you. All of us.”

As she cries in Veronica’s embrace, tears staining the delicate fabric of her dress, she wonders if this is what it’s like to have real friends, people who truly care about you.

It was an unfamiliar feeling but she welcomed the gesture, clinging to the comfort, greedy for it.

 

 

  
She wants power because it’s all she has left.

This week had been her chance to prove herself, to show her parents that she could be the successor they had lost in Jason. And she had succeeded, in part, but not without losing something along the way.

She scribbles furiously on the glossy photograph, the red ink covering their smiling, traitorous faces. She was stupid to think Archie was different, that he might actually feel something and be looking out for her.

It was foolish, she sees that now. She had wanted somebody by her side and she had believed that Archie could be that person. It turns out that he is just like everybody else – self-centred and sly, only doing things to benefit himself. Even he, the most simple-minded boy she knows, has hurt her for his own gain.

She is hated, even by the people that claimed to care.

Polly is another issue altogether. She should have known she couldn’t be trusted. She had wanted to take Jason away – from his home, from _her_ – and he had tried to follow. She wasn’t one of them; she was an interloper. The only people she could rely on were Blossoms and even they weren’t to be trusted.

This must be her penance, she thinks. She was hungry for power and she got a taste, a glimmer of glory, the favorite child for the first time in her life. But too many things had gone her way and something had to give. Brushing away her tears, she stares down at the photograph, the proud Blossoms and the two Judases. She has successfully tapped the tree and earned the support of her family, but she has lost two more people along the way.

 

 

  
She has nothing left. Her father is dead, his suicide his final parting gift, ruining their lives just a little bit more. And her mother – now the only parent she has and the only person that can understand the pain and deceit that is threatening to swallow her whole – has abandoned her, leaving her to deal with everything alone.

But she isn’t dealing. She has tried for so long, has done everything she can to keep going and create a life after Jason.

It isn’t possible, she is sure of that now. So she has no other choice. She has to join him, in the river where it all began.

She changes into her white dress, wrinkled and unworn since the day of the funeral, and heads to the river. She stands at the riverbank, looking over the untouched blanket of ice and snow that now covered Sweetwater, and then takes a step.

Soon. Soon she would be with him.

 

 

  
As she comes to, her first thought is that she feels weightless. She is moving but her body is not – she is being carried, limp in someone’s strong arms. The cold settles in quickly, deep into her bones. It is unlike anything she has ever experienced, an all-encompassing chill that seems ready to consume her.

“It’s okay, Cheryl. You’re okay.”

She can voices, more than one, both frantic and hushed, and it takes her a while to make sense of what they are saying.

She was okay. She wasn’t in the river anymore. She was _alive_.

Through the cold and the pain and the fear, she feels a strange warmth. If she could control her muscles, she would smile into the chest she is crushed against.

Someone had come for her. Someone loved her enough to save her.

 

 

  
Flames dance in her eyes, a reflection of the destruction she has caused. Thornhill is no more, will become just a ruin and a memory by the morning.

She watches her mother run into the house, idiotic and reckless, screaming about paintings and clothing and jewellery. The fire engulfs the entrance, leaving her with no way out.

Cheryl sighs and pulls her phone from her pocket, dials 911.

 

 

 

 

 

18.

It isn’t until later, when Josie is crying and confessing her fears to her in a booth at Pop’s, that Cheryl realizes she has gone too far.

It had made so much sense in her head. She would give Josie a little scare, just enough to leave her worried and looking for a shoulder to cry on, someone to take care of her. Taking out the competition and turning her against Chuck had just been a bonus.

But now that she’s seen it, the actual fear and disappointment in Josie’s eyes, she knows that this isn’t how you earn someone’s love.

 

 

  
(She’s not sure she’ll ever know how to do that. She’s only ever experienced true love and affection from one person in her life, and he was gone, six feet under and now just a memory.)

 

 

  
Toni Topaz intrigues her more than she’d like to admit. Maybe it’s the old cliche of crushing on the person from the wrong side of the tracks; or maybe it’s the confidence, the way she holds her head up high whenever she enters a room, despite all of the whispers of _snakes_ and _interlopers_ and _trailer trash_.

Whatever it is, Cheryl can’t deny that she likes the way Toni watches her, and sometimes, she catches herself looking at her too.

 

 

  
Moose and Midge throw a party during spring break and Toni finally, _finally_ , makes her move.

“So I have a proposition for you,” Toni says, a smirk on her lips as she leans up against the wall.

Cheryl raises one eyebrow. “Oh, really. Pray tell.”

“I think we should find an empty room upstairs, lock ourselves inside, and finally work out all of the tension between us.”

Cheryl sniffs, looks away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She can hear the smile in her voice when Toni says, “Sure, you don’t, Red.” She puts her finger beneath Cheryl’s chin and gently turns her face until their eyes meet. “The offers there. Come find me if you want to take me up on it.”

Cheryl watches her walk away and heads immediately to the kitchen. She pours herself two drinks and drinks them as fast as she can – a little liquid courage.

She approaches Toni and her group of delinquent friends, chin held high, and pushes through the boys until they are face-to-face. With her hand clasped around her neck, she presses her lips to her, brief but hard, and when she pulls back Toni’s lips are stained red.

She meets her eye. “Does the offer still stand?”

 

 

 

She successfully avoids Toni at school for three days. It isn’t that she regrets what happened between them at the party – it’s that she isn’t prepared to confront it.

The experience had been intense. Cheryl has had sex before, has known someone intimately, but it’s never been like that. Toni had learned her body so quickly, had made her moan and squirm with no effort at all, and she had enjoyed every second of it.

Part of her wants a repeat performance. But a larger, louder part of her won’t let that happen. The last time she had fallen this quick, she had become obsessive and strange, desperate for Josie’s love and getting nothing in return. She wasn’t going to do that again.

On the fourth day, Toni finds her.

“Are you seriously avoiding me?”

Cheryl rolls her eyes, slams her locker shut. “Obviously. Now can you move? I’m late for class.”

“Oh no, Red.” She presses her arm against the closed locker, blocking her exit. “We’re going to talk about this. I rocked your world that night and I’m not accepting this silent treatment.”

Cheryl swallows, looking away from her.

“I’m not interested, okay? So just drop it.”

“Look at me and say that, and I will.”

Cheryl meets her gaze, lips pursed as she struggles to maintain her steely facade. They stare at each other, eyes locked, and no words leave Cheryl’s mouth.

“Come with me,” Toni demands, taking her hand, and Cheryl follows, pretending to be reluctant but not even a little bit.

“Where are you taking me?” she cries as they stop outside of a locked white door along the hallway.

Toni pulls a set of keys from her pocket and unlocks the door, tugging her inside as soon as it is open. Inside, the room is bathed in red light, strings of photographs hung up around the walls and the faint smell of chemicals in the air.

“Why have you brought me here?”

Toni locks the door.

“I’m not asking for anything serious,” she says, walking closer and closer until Cheryl is backed up against a table. “I’ll take what I can get, even if it’s casual. But I’m into you, Cheryl. I won’t deny it. And I know you’re into me, too.”

Cheryl can hear her own breathing, quick and loud in the silence. She isn’t sure who makes the first move, but within seconds the sound is swallowed up as their lips meet.

The kiss is heavy, rough, a lust-filled meeting of lips as she is pushed against the table. She takes a seat on top of it, bringing Toni closer, between her legs, until they are flush against each other. Toni’s lips travel south, across her throat and her collarbones and the swell of her breasts, until she is on her knees and spreading her legs apart. She pulls her underwear to the side, hot breath against where she wants her most, and then she is kissing her there, making her cry out in pleasure.

Cheryl’s fingers weave through her hair, a mess of pink curls wrapping around her hand as she licks and sucks at her. She moans loudly, freely, uncaring at the possibility of them being caught.

There were many reasons why this could be a bad idea, but in that moment, she couldn’t think of a single one.

 

 

  
After their meeting in the dark room, Cheryl can’t get enough. They hook up everywhere, constantly finding chances to be alone wherever they could.

(The darkroom remains a favorite. They return there many times, enjoying the privacy and the darkness, the red glow making the whole situation feel even sexier and more illicit.)

Cheryl is greedy for her, the pleasure that she gives her and the way she makes her feel. But also her affection; the soft kisses after she makes her come and the arms wrapped around her waist as she plays the big spoon to her little.

“So beautiful,” Toni murmurs as she rises up on her elbows, watching Cheryl between her legs.

Cheryl looks up and meets her eye, flushed and warm with her adoration, and curls a finger inside of her until she cries out and throws her head back.

After, they lie together, Toni’s head resting against against her breasts as music plays on Toni’s tiny stereo. She combs her fingers through her hair, white gliding through pink, and sighs.

She would never admit it, but she was really going to miss Toni when she went to college.

 

 

  
A week after her graduation, she contacts Polly.

She is reluctant at first, distrusting of Cheryl’s motives. Cheryl understands – she was a mother now, protective of her children, and she didn’t want to expose them to the bitter, twisted side of their family who had a history of hurting their own.

Eventually she agrees and Cheryl almost cries with relief. If Polly didn’t want her to be a part of the twin's life she would accept that, but she had to see them just once. They were a part of Jason that remained alive and well, and she couldn’t leave town without seeing them.

They meet at the Cooper house, Betty hovering in the living room as Polly opens the door. She leads her into the living room where this a play mat on the floor, two wriggling, redheaded children gurgling on it .

Betty lifts one, the boy, into her arms, and Polly holds the other.

“This Dagwood and Junie,” Polly says, a proud smile on her face. And they are so beautiful that Cheryl can ignore her distaste for their names.

Dagwood’s hair is curly and rich in color, much like her own, his features soft and favoring his mother. He is gorgeous but it is Juniper that captivates her, her hair strawberry blonde and her features more angular, lips a dark pout on her tiny face.

She looked just like him and Cheryl can’t hold back her tears.

“Hi,” she smiles, cupping both of their faces in her hands. Their skin is so soft beneath her fingertips, new and smooth.

“Do you want to hold her?” Polly asks, face now soft as she watches Cheryl stroke her hand over Dagwood’s hair.

Cheryl blinks back her tears and nods, holding her arms out for Juniper. In a practiced move, Polly transitions her from her arms to Cheryl’s, and the baby immediately relaxes against her, head against her chest.

She is solid and weighty in her arms, much heavier than her little body looked. The top of her head smells like baby shampoo and her eyes are as light as Jason’s had been, and Cheryl is openly crying as she looks down at her.

She looks up and her eyes immediately find Betty’s.

“She’s so beautiful,” she whispers, voice weak with emotion.

Betty smiles and reaches out to brush her hand along Cheryl’s arm.

“I know. She looks like you.”

 

 

 

 

 

19.

Life at Cornell is good for her. She excells during her Freshman year, finds a major she loves, and revels in her newfound freedom. She is just far away enough from home that she can forget about Riverdale and it’s secrets, but close enough that everything doesn’t feel totally unfamiliar.

She doesn’t know if she could have moved further, across the country. She was only a state away, a three hour drive from where she had grown up. Anyone else in her shoes would have ran as far as they could, away from that place, but she thinks travelling any further would have been too much. Panic attack-inducing and scary. Riverdale is all she has ever known and despite everything that has happened there, leaving it totally behind feels like she is letting go of something she’s still not quite ready to let go of.

The only issue she has at college is one that has plagued her, her whole life – she has no friends.

It is as if she is incapable of making friends like anyone else. She didn’t have a warmth to her, a personality that drew people in. She had left high school with a handful of people that she would consider more than acquaintances – Veronica, Betty, Josie; but they were friendships borne of familiarity, of knowing each other so long and going through so much, that eventually a bond had formed, whether any of them really liked it or not.

Of course, she had family that connected her to Betty and her childhood had been similar to Veronica’s. Josie was another matter – she’d never found out about what she did and once Cheryl had gotten over her infatuation, she hadn’t wanted to let her go completely.

But they were all people from her past and friendships she had accidentally fallen into. That hadn’t happened at Cornell, and while she was never without company in her classes or her dorms, she missed having someone to really talk to.

Cheryl has been alone for a long time now but she’s never quite gotten used to it.

 

 

 

She returns to Riverdale during the summer. She doesn’t go home to stay with her mother – she doesn’t think either of them wants that – but instead stays with Polly and the twins in her new apartment, on the Northside of town.

Her first few days are spent with her niece and nephew, helping out her sister-in-law and catching up with Betty, who is always at the apartment when she’s not with Jughead. It’s a nice way to start her summer; simple and sweet, the feeling of being surrounded by people making her chest warm and tight.

She is ten days into her break when she runs into Toni at the grocery store.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were back in town.” She immediately embraces her, arms wrapped tight around her shoulders. “Hows it going? How’s college?”

“It’s going realy well. I love it.”

“That’s good.” She smiles, genuinely pleased. “Hey – we should go out for dinner! Are you free any nights this week?”

Cheryl hesitates, not sure if this was a good idea. Having dinner with Toni could lead to more, which would only complicate her summer break.

But then she looks at Toni - her dark, expressive eyes and the soft quirks of her full, smiling lips - and she’s reminded of all the reasons why being with her is so, so good.

“I’m free tomorrow,” she replies and they make a date.

 

 

  
Dinner is easy and fun. They spend hours catching up, discussing Toni’s plans to leave town and applying to various internships, and Cheryl’s freshman year of college. The conversation flows easily, a years worth of events to recall, but it’s after that the awkwardness arrives.

The evening had felt suspiciously date-like; laughter over dinner in a dark restaurant, their eyes meeting across the table over and over again, lit up by the candle that burns in the center. Now they are stood outside of Toni’s tiny apartment on the Southside, giggling nervously, and neither is quite sure how to proceed.

“Is this where you kiss me goodnight and tell me you’ll call me?” Toni asks, half-smiling.

“If it was a date, yes.”

Toni’s steps closer, linking her pinkie with Cheryl’s.

“I think this felt like a date.”

Cheryl licks her lips. “Me, too.”

Toni’s mouth is warm and soft beneath hers. It is a slow, sweet kiss, perfect for the parting of ways; it’s just enough to leave them wanting more.

Cheryl reluctantly pulls away and strokes her thumb across Toni’s cheek as she says, “I should probably go.”

Toni’s hands tighten around her waist, not letting her move an inch.

“Or you could stay.”

It takes less than second for Cheryl to nod, “I could definitely stay,” and then she is kissing her again, pressing her up against the rough brick of Toni’s apartment building.

Toni smiles against her lips and says, “As hot as this is, I really think we should go inside.”

Cheryl steps away, takes Toni’s hand in hers, and allows her to lead the way.

 

 

  
Sometimes, when they’re together, Cheryl feels annoyed that they didn’t meet each other sooner.

If they had met earlier in high school, had dated properly and had their chance at a real relationship, Cheryl’s life could have been so different. Maybe she would have been genuinely happy – a feeling that always seemed to allude her during her high school years. They could have been like any other couple; holding hands in the hallway, dates at Pop’s, sneaking around past their curfew.

She feels particularly wistful during afternoons spent with Betty and Jughead. They are sickly-sweet, deliciously cliche, as they go on double dates at the diner or take a trip to New York. In those moments – holding hands as they walk through the streets, Toni’s hand on her knee beneath the table as Betty tells them of their plans for college – Cheryl can pretend that they are a real couple and that this isn’t all going to end when summer is over and she returns to college.

“You okay, babe?” Toni asks, squeezing her hand.

Cheryl snaps out of her thoughts and smiles. They are strolling along the High Line, pretty and green on a sunny afternoon.

“I’m okay,” she answers, because in that moment she really is.

 

 

  
She leaves for Ithaca in the morning.

They know that this probably won’t be the last time they see each other. Toni was considering moving to New York – among many other places – and Ithaca really wasn’t that far from the city. Plus, she was planning to visit Betty and Jughead occasionally once they moved. But there is still a finality there, as they lie in Toni’s queen-size bed, Netflix playing low in the background.

“Are we being dumb for not trying to make this work?”

“I don’t know,” Cheryl admits with a sigh. She trails her hand along Toni’s bare thigh, watching the movement. “I mean, I really like you, and if I wasn’t living so far away I’d say we should definitely try. But... you don’t have any definitive plans and I don’t know how we can make long-distance work when you could be living on a whole other coast, or even another country, in a few months time.”

“I could still end up in the city,” she points out.

“And if you do, we’ll figure it out from there.”

Toni smiles sadly and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I really hope I get the New York internship.”

Cheryl reaches up and wraps her fingers around her wrist. “Me, too.”

They lie there for a while, facing each other, hands trailing across each other’s skin, memorizing.

“Toni,” she says softly. “What do you... _like_ about me?”

Her eyebrows knit together. “What? What kind of quest–“

“I know it’s weird but please, just humor me.”

“Okay. Well...” Toni pauses, preparing her response. “You’re beautiful. Not just pretty but the drop dead gorgeous, ‘your face should be on magazines’ kind of beautiful.” She smiles and Cheryl lets out a little laugh. “You’re funny. You can be wonderfully mean – I’ve actually seen you make a grown man cry. You’re honest, fiercely protective of the people you care about. And you’re strong,” she adds, more serious now. “You’ve been through so much shit but you’re still here, trying to create a life for yourself. I think that’s pretty fucking impressive.”

“Do you really mean all of that?” Cheryl whispers, throat now thick with tears.

“Of course I do,” Toni replies. She cups her face, strokes the skin of her cheek. “I know a part of you thinks you’re unlovable but that’s just not true. You can be a tough nut to crack, but you’re _so_ worth it. And if you were really mine, I’d be so proud to have you by my side."

She falls a little bit in love with Toni that night. Her words and her affection and her ability to see the light in all her darkness is something she’ll never completely understand.

She kisses her soundly, hoping to convey everything she can’t say. She’ll never truly know what she’s done for her on this night, how she has changed things and given her the confidence that she has been missing. It’s always been there on the surface but now she actually felt it.

“Thank you,” she murmurs against her lips, the words insufficient but she’s never meant anything more.

 

 

 

 

  
20.

“Why didn’t you tell me how much college would kick my ass?” Veronica demands.

They were FaceTiming for the first time since Veronica and Betty’s semesters had started, and the transition from high school to college isn’t quite as easy as they had expected.

Cheryl laughs, shrugs. “I thought it was a given.”

“Well a little warning would have been nice,” she mutters, crossing her arms.

Betty comes on-screen then, taking a seat beside Veronica. She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be so dramatic, V. You’ll figure it out.” She smiles at Cheryl. “So are you still coming to the city over spring break?”

“Yeah, I’m driving down on Monday. Veronica, am I still staying with you?”

She smiles. “Yep. I have the empty, right-side of my bed waiting for you and I’ve found a chic, little coffee shop a block from my building that we should visit.”

They end the call and she adds her spring break trip to her phone calendar. She was excited, looking forward to a few days in New York with Betty and Veronica, and maybe Toni if she was around.

Her sophomore year was already so different from her first. She had joined a yoga class on campus and an archery club, and moved into an apartment with two other roommates who she now considered friends. She had left Riverdale with a new sense of purpose and had returned to Cornell determined to put herself out there and actually make friends.

Now, she had so much going on in her life that she had to schedule plans on her iPhone calendar.

Her phone buzzes and an alert appears at the top of her phone, a little symbol of a yellow hexagon in the corner. She smiles, opening the message. She had a reply from a guy she had messaged earlier that day, a handsome Psychology major she has seen around campus.

  
**Nate**  
Hey, beautiful. Stoked that we matched

  
Cheryl taps out a reply. She had no plans tonight but that could be about to change.

 

 

  
Toni travels frequently with the photographer she is interning for, but when she is back in the city she occasionally makes the four hour train journey to Ithaca.

Their relationship cannot be defined. Sometimes she thinks she might love Toni – it really was so easy; she was so sexy and fun and genuinely _good_. But what they had wasn’t serious and any feelings she had had to be turned off like a faucet as soon as Toni left Ithaca.

“Are you sure I can’t stay?” Jacob asks, close to pouting as they stand in front of her door.

Cheryl smiles and reaches around him to grasp the door handle, impatient. Toni was arriving early and he had to leave now.

“No, I’m sorry. But we should do this again sometime. Next week?”

His eyes light up, eager and hopeful. “Yeah? Awesome. I’ll call you.”

“You do that.” She kisses his cheek and then gives him a gentle push out of the door. “Bye!”

She slams the door shut and leans back against it, relieved. Her phone begins to vibrate in the pocket of her robe and she checks the screen. Toni.

“Fuck,” she mutters. She slides to answer and plasters a smile on her face as she says, “Hey, Tone. What time are you getting here?”

“I’ll be at the station in twenty minutes. Can you pick me up or do I need to call an Uber?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll come get you.”

As soon as she hangs up, Cheryl releases a huge sigh of relief and pushes her head back against the door. Her roommate, Ava, pauses on her way to the kitchen and chuckles.

“Man, I love watching you try to juggle all of these hook-ups.”

Cheryl’s smile is sarcastic as she flips her the bird.

She checks the time on her phone. It would take her fifteen minutes to drive to the train station. She twists her hair up into a top knot and runs upstairs to change. She didn’t have time to take a shower.

 

 

 

“The steroid abuser just left looking pretty upset. Did he cry like the last one?”

Cheryl takes a seat at the island across from Ava, and steals a potato chip from her plate.

“No,” she sighs. “But he looked like he was about to. I don’t understand their reactions. I’m always up front, they know from the start that I’m not looking for anything serious.”

Ava shrugs. “I don’t know, babe. I guess you just have that effect on people. You’re a real heartbreaker, Blossom.”

Cheryl arches her brow. “Oh, really? Name one person who’s heart I’ve broken.”

“Uh, how about the nursing student who drove past our house everyday for two weeks when you started ignoring her calls? Or Laurie’s TA who asks about you every single time she goes to her Social Sciences class?”

 _Okay_ , all good examples.

“Whatever,” Cheryl says dismissively. “I’m not doing anything wrong. They all know from the beginning that it’s just a casual hook-up.”

“Oh, I’m not saying what you’re doing is wrong,” Ava assures her. “In fact, I admire you. You’re really playing the field, seeing what’s out there. But you harness some real power. Some of these people are totally infatuated with you.”

There is an arrogant part of Cheryl that feels somewhat happy about that. It was kind of flattering to hear that you could have that affect on people. But then Ava continues.

“Like that chick from your hometown that visits sometimes? The one with the pink hair? She always looks so sad when she leaves, like she hates leaving you. I feel so bad for her.”

Cheryl swallows, guilt twisting her stomach.

Toni was different – she wasn’t the same as all of her Bumble hook-ups – and she didn’t want to talk about her as if she was.

 

 

 

 

 

26.

A year after she moves to LA, Cheryl finally puts her Management and Marketing degree to use and lands a talent agent job for a high-profile agency.

Cheryl thrives in the role, loves negotiating deals and arguing on her client’s behalf, and the cutthroat nature of the industry itself. She is good at her job, at getting what she and her clients want, and isn’t afraid to be disliked because of the decisions she is making. She already knows what it’s like to be hated; at least now she is making money from it.

Six months into the job, she lands big, blockbuster deals for three of the agency’s youngest and best talent, and makes a significant amount of money.

She calls Toni as soon as she leaves the office.

“Are you in town this weekend? I want to celebrate.”

 

 

  
On Friday, she takes the afternoon off and heads to the Beverley Center for some retail therapy. She buys herself a Coach handbag, some new shoes and clothes, and a red velvet dress that she falls in love with for her date with Toni.

The following night, she slips into the dress and shakes out her hair, all dressed up for the night ahead.

Toni whistles when she enters her living room. She does a little spin for her in the center of the room, showcasing the velvet dress from all angles.

“I see you’ve been treating yourself.”

Cheryl shrugs. “I work hard. And tonight I’ll be treating you, too.”

Toni smiles and kisses her cheek, not wanting to smudge her dark lipstick. Cheryl slips her hand into hers and leads towards the door.

“Oh! I have something for you.”

She retrieves a key from the bowl beside her door and drops it into Toni’s palm.

She looks up at Cheryl with raised eyebrows. “Is this what I think it is?”

“A key to my apartment, yes. You’re here a lot and I want you to be able to let yourself in anytime.”

They’ve never had the conversation, have never really defined what they are to each other. After Cheryl moved to Los Angeles, Toni got a job as a photography assistant at an LA-based magazine. She travels a lot, so rents a tiny apartment downtown, but whenever she’s in town she spends most of her free time with Cheryl.

Their situation is like a committed relationship in everything but name. They go on dates, they sleep in the same bed, they go grocery shopping together and discuss their days when they come home from work. But then Toni goes away, leaving for a month at a time to take photographs halfway across the world, and there is no discussion of whether they are exclusive to each other during that time apart.

Cheryl hasn’t slept with anyone else, hasn’t been with anyone but Toni for almost two years, but that doesn’t mean Toni hasn’t. And that thought plagues her everytime she leaves. She can’t find it in herself to broach the subject, to ask her if they should make things official, so they remain in limbo, this unspoken question hovering over them.

And now she has given her a key, and she wants so badly for Toni to give her a sign, to call her her girlfriend, to do anything that would suggest she wants her and no one else.

Instead, she says, “Thank you,” and kisses her cheek again, soft and sweet.

Disappointment washes over her but she knows she is partly to blame. If only she could find the courage to be honest with her.

 

 

  
On Sunday evening Cheryl is sat on her couch, Toni’s head in her lap as she combs her fingers through her hair. It is light brown now, the pink washed out sometime after her twenty-third birthday, and while she looks beautiful in any shade, part of her really misses the bright color.

It is peaceful in her apartment, the TV playing low and a window open slightly to allow some of the noise from the street to filter in. This is how they would often spend their last nights together before Toni left for another trip, and Cheryl loves the tranquillity it, the easiness that comes with being with her.

She brushes her hair back from her face and leans down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Do you wanna go to bed?” she asks quietly.

Toni nods and yawns, stretching as she rises from the couch. The switch everything off until the living room is dark and make their way to the bathroom to wash up and brush their teeth. As Toni is brushing, Cheryl sits at her vanity and brushes out her hair, a nightly routine that she has maintained since she was a child. She sees Toni come up behind her when she enters the bedroom, a soft smile on her face as she wraps her fingers around the handle of the brush.

“Let me,” she murmurs and begins to pull it gently through the length of her hair.

Cheryl hums in satisfaction, relaxing into the gentle touch. The last person to do this for her had been Jason, ten years old and looking to apologize for being mean. Cheryl smiles at the memory, unwanted tears pricking her eyes as she realizes the intimacy of this moment with Toni.

“Beautiful,” Toni whispers when she is done and drops a kiss to her temple.

They curl up in Cheryl’s bed, face-to-face, lazy and sleep-soft, fingers interlinked.

In the morning they will make love before Toni returns to her apartment to pack, and Cheryl will wish once again that she could be brave.

 

 

  
At first Harry’s clear interest in her is a turn-off. He is arrogant and self-centered, used to getting what he wants. And what he wants is _her_ – that much is clear during their first meeting.

He is the first producer to contact her directly, in need of a female lead to star in a new historical thriller. The director attached is an Oscar-winner, and the movie would be a big land for any of her young, female clients. She agrees to a meeting with him, which she tries to keep strictly professional despite his constant flirting.

After their third meeting, a deal has been made and Cheryl is pleased with the outcome. He asks her out to dinner, a celebratory meal to begin their new working relationship. Despite her initial misgivings, she agrees; it paid to have connections with the right people and one dinner could change everything.

“Do you know why I asked you to dinner?” Harry asks, eyeing her over his wine glass.

“Because you want to fuck me,” Cheryl says bluntly.

Harry chuckles, eyes dancing with mirth. “Well I won’t deny that but it isn’t the real reason.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You’re an intelligent woman and you’ve made a big name for yourself already,” he says. “Power recognizes power, Cheryl. I think you’re going to go very far and I like surrounding myself with successful women.”

It’s cheesy and arrogant, his genuine appreciation of her turned into a pick-up attempt. But Cheryl can’t deny that she is falling for it. Throughout dinner he paints a picture of an LA power couple, hard-working and rich and creating stars in the industry.

Cheryl isn’t sure if it’s his words or the fact that she was missing Toni – in New Zealand on a three month long trip, the longest she’s ever left her behind – but Cheryl kisses him back when he drops her off outside her apartment building and leans across the console to press his lips to hers.

“I’ll call you,” he promises with a wink, but Cheryl isn’t sure she wants him to.

 

 

  
Cheryl won’t call it an affair but she can’t explain away the sick feeling in her stomach, the guilt that twists in her everytime she leaves Harry’s home.

During the first month, he showers her with gifts; new handbags and expensive dinners, and extravagant bouquets delivered to her home. The shallow, materialistic part of her revels in it, accepting each gift with a smile and a flirty text to tell him that he will be rewarded.

But there is another part of her – that part that is wracked with guilt, that feels like she is betraying Toni – that knows she isn’t doing this for the right reasons. She doesn’t think she even really likes him. He is borderline-sleazy, rude in his efforts to showcase his wealth, and a selfish lover that often leaves her unsatisfied.

She decides to end things two weeks before Toni’s return.

 

 

 

Harry is eerily still, not moving an inch, turned away from her. She wishes she could see his face, gauge his reaction.

“So you think this is how this ends?”

She frowns. “What? What are you–“

“You don’t make the decisions here, Cheryl.” He turns, his smile cruel as he approaches her. “ _I_ tell _you_ when this ends.”

She doesn’t like the look on his face at all. She needed to leave his house, and fast.

“Whatever,” she says, wrapping her coat tighter around her. “I’m out of here.”

“No, you don’t!”

He runs after her, slamming the door closed just as she opens it. She can feel his breath on her neck, his body too close and his cologne overwhelming as he presses himself against her.

“I’ve had whores like you before, thinking they’re special, the next big thing in this town.”

As his hand skims her thigh, her eyes close and she bites down on her bottom lip, trying to stem the tears that form. Her mind automatically wanders to the the last time a man had spoken to her like this, had made her feel this way.

_At least I’m not a desperate tart from a truck-stop town..._

She grabs his hand and forcibly removes it, her nails sinking into his skin. She meets his eye, teeth gritted.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me like that again,” she spits. “Because if you do, I will personally see to it that you’re career goes up in flames.” She smirks, blood racing. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard but things have changed in Hollywood. A harassment claim can destroy a person's career.”

She shoved him away and is out the door in seconds, slamming it closed behind her.

 

 

  
Cheryl drives until she is out of Harry’s neighborhood, then pulls over and bursts into tears. Great, heaving sobs that make her chest hurt and leave black mascara smeared beneath her eyes.

She slams her hand against the horn in frustration, screams at the top of her lungs. What the fuck had she been thinking? Why had she even entertained the idea of being with Harry, never mind following through with it?

After calming herself down and fixing her make-up in her visor mirror, Cheryl drives to her favorite bar downtown. It is busy inside, lots of people talking and drinking like any other Saturday night. Cheryl isn’t in the mood to mingle and heads straight to the bar, taking a seat at the first empty stool she finds.

“Can I get a double vodka tonic?”

She can feel the woman beside her watching her, looking her up and down. She’s hot – tall and angular, like a model. Maybe she actually is a model.

She drinks her vodka tonic in two gulps and slams the empty glass onto the table.

“Hey, can I get you another?” the woman asks her, ready to make her move.

“What’s your name?” Cheryl demands.

“Natalia.”

“I’m Cheryl,” she replies. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

 

 

  
“Want me to go down on you?” Natalia murmurs, as Cheryl throws her shirt onto the floor.

Cheryl shakes her head, skimming her hands along her naked back. This wasn’t about pleasure, this was about control. She was in charge here.

“No,” she says between kisses, nipping at her full bottom lip. “This about you,” she says, a total lie, but Natalia eats it up with a smile.

She stretches out across the bed as she licks at her, hands wrapped around her thighs. Natalia moans above her, back arching and head thrown back, lost in sensation. Cheryl likes seeing her this way, totally at her mercy as she brings her closer and closer to the edge.

She is so caught up in what she’s doing, in the way she feels, that she doesn’t hear the lock turn in the front, doesn’t hear the footsteps down the hallway.

Doesn’t hear the door open.

“Surpri– Oh, fuck!”

Cheryl snaps her head over, eyes wide as she sees Toni stood in the doorway, frozen, staring at the sight in front of her.

“What the fuck?!” Natalia yells but Cheryl ignores her, wiping her mouth with her hand and rising to her feet.

“Toni, please. I can explain,” she pleads, taking a step closer.

Toni’s eye narrow into slits, glassy with tears.

“Fuck you.”

She is running out of the apartment before Cheryl even takes another step.

 

 

  
Cheryl chases after her as fast as she can, hot on Toni’s heels as she takes the stairs to reach the ground floor of Cheryl’s building.

“Toni, wait! Please listen to me!” Cheryl yells as they step out onto the patio outside.

“What?” Toni scream, spinning around. Her eyes are wide and wet, and she is furious. “What can you possibly have to say to me?”

“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I made a mistake. I’ve just missed you so much a–and... we were never exclusive! We never discussed that. And I’ve felt so insecure these past few months while you’ve been awa–“

“Are you fucking serious?” Toni isn’t yelling but there is a bite to her words, enough to make her flinch. “Are we back in high school? Because we must be if we’re using words like ‘exclusive’.”

“Toni, please,” Cheryl murmurs.

“I didn’t need that conversation,” she snaps. “I love you and I wanted you – only you. I didn’t feel the need to tell you that I wasn’t sleeping with anybody else because I thought we had something real, I thought we were past all of that. I thought you loved me!”

“I do,” Cheryl cries, reaching out for her hand. “Toni, please. I do. I love you.”

“Is she the first?” she asks, voice cold and eyes narrowed.

Cheryl swallows the lump in her throat but can’t respond, paralyzed by the fear that this was it.

Toni lets out a humorless laugh and rips her hand out of Cheryl’s grasp.

“We were so good, Cheryl. We were _happy_. Why wasn’t that enough for you?”

Cheryl watches her drive away and then drops down onto the top stoop, face buried in her hands as she sobs. At some point she hears the door open and the click of heels against the steps – Natalia leaving, no doubt – but Cheryl doesn’t look up.

She wonders where it all went wrong. She has always been insecure but this time she had gotten greedy. She had liked the attention – from Harry, from Natalia, from everyone else she had ever hooked-up with. But then she had had something real, one person’s love and undivided attention, and it hadn’t been enough.

Cheryl can blame it on Toni leaving and the undefined nature of their relationship but she knows there is something else going on. She needed to feel loved, was desperate for it. And in her poor attempts to find that feeling, she has destroyed the only real shot at love she’s ever had.

 

 

 

 

 

29.

If you had told seventeen year old Cheryl that she would one day be Betty Cooper’s bridesmaid at her wedding to Jughead Jones, she would have laughed in your face.

One, because she would never be anything more than frenemies with Betty. And two, because someone was actually marrying Jughead Jones.

Yet here she stands in a purple tulle dress, watching Jughead and Betty share their first dance, with a genuine smile on her face.

She claps with the rest of the guests as the song ends and leads into another, then wanders over to the bar to get another glass of champagne. She leans back against the bartop, sipping at her drink as she looks out across the gazebo and the string lights now twinkling around it. It really was beautiful.

Her eyes roam over the guests and pause on a woman stood at the far end of the gazebo, with the other smokers.

She looks different than she had two years ago. Her hair is shorter, lighter, blonde highlighting the ends of her curls. She is wearing a form-fitting grey dress, a similar color to the other groomsmen, with a sprig of lavender pinned to one strap.

She is still beautiful and Cheryl’s heart still hurts when she looks at her.

Throwing back the rest of her champagne, Cheryl decides she is going to approach her and try to make nice. There was a chance she never wanted to speak to her again but she at least had to be polite about it in this setting.

She is talking to Sweet Pea when she walks over, her back to her. Sweet Pea sees her and nods in Cheryl’s direction before she can reach out to touch her shoulder.

“Cheryl!” Her eyes are wide as she spins around. A tiny smile pulls at the corners of her lips. “Hey. How are you?”

Sweet Pea whispers something in Toni’s ear and then walks away, leaving them alone.

“I’m good.” Cheryl offers her the best smile she can manage. “How are you?”

She nods. “I’m okay. Great wedding, huh? I’m so happy for them.”

“Yeah, it’s surprisingly sweet. You know, for Jughead.”

Toni laughs, the sound like bells.

“Yeah, he’s gotten all sappy and romantic in his old age.” Her eyes drop and she looks back up at her beneath her eyelashes. “There’s a balcony over the gardens. I’m gonna go smoke. Do you wanna come with?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

The balcony is wide and overlooks the gardens surrounding the entire hotel. Toni pulls a cigarette from her purse, lights it, takes a drag, and then offers it to Cheryl.

She was usually a social smoker, only partaking when she was drinking or drunk – or after a particularly stressful day at work – but she hadn’t smoked in years. Not since the last time she had gone bar-hopping in LA with Toni.

She takes a drag, the smoke filling her lungs and immediately relaxing her. She passes it back and rests her back against the railing, watching her. She had some stuff she needed to say.

“I’m sorry,” is what she starts with. “What happened between us... It was awful and I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you and getting so hung up on labels.

“I was committed to you, please believe that,” she adds quietly. “Those two years in LA with you were the best of my life and it wasn’t until I let my insecurities get the best of me that I started having doubts.”

“I did love you,” Toni says, eyes straight ahead. “And no one has ever hurt me as much as you did. I just... I never thought you’d cheat. And what’s worse is that you didn’t even think you _were_ cheating." She chuckles humorlessly. "But I know you, Cheryl. You’ve got a lot of shit that you’re still trying to figure out.”

She must see Cheryl flinch as she is quick to clarify her words.

“I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m trying to be understanding.” She exhales and then her eyes flicker over, finally meeting Cheryl’s. “I was so mad at you but I get it now. You weren’t ready to be in a relationship. No one has ever loved you the way they were supposed to and you didn’t know what to do when someone did. And that’s okay, because now I understand. And I forgive you.”

“You do?” she asks softly, surprised.

“Yeah, I do. But promise me you’ll figure your shit out before you enter another relationship.” She smiles, sad. “You don’t know how hard it is to get over a woman like you.”

Cheryl feels tears prick at her eyes and something Ava said to her years ago comes to mind.

_You’re a real heartbreaker, Blossom._

Toni’s phone begins to vibrate in her bag and when she pulls it out there is a picture on the screen – Toni and another woman, dark-skinned and beautiful, cheeks pressed together and wide smiles on their faces. The name across the top says ‘Kira’.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Cheryl asks.

“Yeah,” Toni smiles. “She’s a writer at the magazine.” She drops the phone into her purse. “I’ll call her back.”

“Are you happy?” Cheryl asks.

“I am. Really happy. Are you?”

Cheryl bites the corner of her lip, unsure how to answer that question.

“I don’t know.”

“You will be,” Toni says confidently. “You’ll figure it out.”

Cheryl nods, hoping she’s right, and begins to walk away.

“Cheryl, wait!”

She pauses and turns, surprised to see Toni walking towards her. She is in front of her in three strides, taking her face between her hands and kissing her softly. Cheryl sighs against her, missing the warmth of her lips as soon as Toni pulls away.

“You will find happiness, Red,” she tells her firmly, thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. “You just have to want it.”

 

 

 

 

 

31.

Cheryl meets Hailey at an industry after-party.

She has heard of her - the female producer making waves in Hollywood after producing three heavily nominated movies in a single year. She is beautiful, too, as attractive as the starlets she puts onscreen, and as soon as their eyes meet across the crowded room, Cheryl is smitten.

 

 

  
They take things slowly, do things the way you’re supposed to; dates - but no kissing until the third, meeting the parents - but only Hailey’s as Penelope Blossom hasn’t spoken to her daughter in years.

She is upfront with her, tells her honestly that she has only had one real relationship and she wasn’t particularly good at it. Hailey doesn’t judge her, doesn’t cringe away at her lack of experience.

“I haven’t got the best track record either so we can figure this out together.”

They go on hikes together, up the hills with Hailey’s golden retriever, Max, taking in the view of the city at the top. They take trips to the coast, and spend whole weekends in bed, and Cheryl can’t remember ever feeling this happy.

She watches Hailey’s long, blonde hair blow in the breeze rolling in from the sea and laughs as she watches her run into the waves, splashing around, and diving head first into the water. She buries her fingers in Max’s fur, scratching him around the ears the way he likes as she sits on the sand. The sun is beginning to set, the low light casting a halo around Hailey’s golden hair and she smiles.

Falling in love with Hailey is the easiest thing in the world.

 

 

  
Their trip to New York serves two purposes – Cheryl wants to spend a romantic weekend with her girlfriend, and she also wants said girlfriend to meet the people she considers her family.

They arrange to meet up at a restaurant downtown, not far from Betty and Jughead’s apartment.

She hears them before she sees them, the twins fighting between themselves as Polly snaps at them, begging them to stop. She approaches the table, leading Hailey by the hand, and the twins immediately fall quiet as soon as they see her.

“Aunt Cheryl!” Dag shouts, throwing his arms around Cheryl’s waist.

She wraps her arms around him, bending down to press a kiss against his red hair.

“Hey, sweetie.”

Junie is a little more reserved, waiting for her brother to disentangle himself before walking up to her.

“Hi, Aunt Cheryl.”

Cheryl crouches to her level and wraps her up in a hug. “Hi, beautiful.”

And she is, _so beautiful_ – the image of her brother, even at twelve, eyes brighter and hair now more blonde than red, but there’s still so much Jason in her features.

“I’ve missed you,” she confesses, tucking a strawberry blonde curl behind her ear.

She smiles, sweet and pretty. “Me, too.”

Polly and Betty greet her then, kissing her on the cheek and wrapping her up in hugs.

“This is my girlfriend, Hailey,” she introduces, squeezing Hailey’s hand as she smiles up at her. “Hailey, this is my sister-in-law Polly and her sister, Betty. We grew up together.”

“Ah, so you must have some embarrassing stories to tell me about teenage Cheryl,” Hailey comments as they take their seats around the table. She shoots Cheryl a teasing smile. “Please tell me she had a goth phase.”

“Not at all,” Betty replies. “Cheryl was always one of those annoying people who never had an awkward phase during high school, unlike the rest of us.”

“Figures,” Hailey mutters, reaching across the table to take her hand. “You’ve always been ridiculously beautiful then.”

Cheryl can feel Betty and Polly’s eyes on her, probably amused by the corniness they’re witnessing and the blush Cheryl can feel on her face. They’ve never seen this side of her before, they lovesick girl who is head over heels.

She likes that she can still surprise them.

 


	7. wrath

_calling for my demons now to let me go_  
_i need something, give me something wonderful_

 

  
8.

The first time she punches someone, she is eight years old.

It is recess and Betty is trying to show Kevin her new notebook but he is more interested in playing jump rope with Josie and Val. She look over towards the jungle gym where Archie and Jughead had been earlier and frowns when she sees Archie has gone and Jughead is alone.

Except, he isn’t alone. Reggie Mantle is there, a whole head taller than Jughead and poking a finger into his chest.

“Kev.” Betty tugs at the sleeve of his sweater, trying to get his attention. “Kev, look!”

“What is it, Betty?” he asks, sounding kind of annoyed. Betty points towards the gym and Kevin gasps when he sees Reggie towering over Jughead. “Oh, _no_.”

They run over to them and as they get closer Betty can hear Reggie, voice low but taunting.

“My mom says your trailer trash just like your dad. You’re so poor you can’t even afford a real house.”

Jughead’s eyes are narrow, his nostrils flaring, but Betty can see the tears threatening to spill. He tugs at the back of his beanie and Betty can tell he’s nervous and uncomfortable. Her hands curl up into fists, fury coursing through her. She is so mad at Reggie – for saying those things, for putting that look on Jughead’s face.

What she does next is pure instinct and emotion, driven by feeling.

She charges towards Reggie, rising on her toes as soon as she is close enough and punching him square in the nose. He falls back from the force and the shock, back hitting the ground as his hand covers his face. Mud flies up from his shoes, splattering across Betty’s pristine, pink sweater and she can only watch with wide eyes, herself surprised by what she has just done.

“Betty Cooper!”

Betty, Jughead and Kevin’s heads snap over to their teacher. She looks furious, face red as she yells Betty’s name and marches towards her.

“Betty, that is unacceptable. You _cannot_ hit people!” she chastises. “You’re coming with me to see the principal.” She looks over to Archie who has ran over during the commotion. He is frozen, watching the scene unfold before him. “Archie, can you take Reggie to the nurse’s office?”

Archie nods, pulling Reggie up to his feet and leading him away.

“Mrs Cartwright, it’s not fair. You can’t take Betty to the principal,” Kevin insists, standing up for his best friend. “She was just helping Jughead! Reggie was being mean.”

“Well Jughead needs to speak to me about that himself,” she says, looking pointedly at Jughead. “And while that could be true, violence is not the answer, Kevin. I’m sure your dad will agree with me.”

Kevin falls silent, the mention of his father enough to shut him up. He didn’t want to get in trouble for back-talking the teacher.

“Come on, Betty,” Mrs Cartwright demands, nodding towards the school building.

Betty follows silently, head hung low in embarrassment. She’d never been in trouble with the principal before and she’s not quite why she just did something so crazy. She's never wanted to punch someone before.

“Betty!” She pauses and turns at the sound of Jughead’s voice. To her surprise, he is smiling – and not one of his half-smiles but a full, wide grin. “Thanks.”

She smiles back, suddenly feeling a little brighter. She turns back to the teacher, hurrying to close the distance between them, but this time as she follows her head is held high.

Getting into trouble wasn’t good and her parents were going to be really mad, but it had definitely been worth it.

 

 

  
She sits on the couch as her parents yell in front of her, her mother wild-eyed and frantic as she says things like ‘child psychologist’ and ‘violent tendencies’.

“Did it hurt?” Polly asks beside her.

She shrugs, inspecting her hand. She had marks on her knuckles but they were fading.

“A little bit. It’s okay now.”

“I think it’s awesome.” Polly grins, blue eyes bright. “Reggie Mantle is a jerk.”

Betty can’t help but agree.

“Elizabeth." Betty’s head snaps up. “You are grounded for one week,” her mother tells her firmly. “That means no visits from Kevin and no going to Archie’s house. And you’ll write a letter to Reggie to tell him you’re sorry.”

Betty’s eyebrows knit together. “But I’m not sorry. He was being mean.”

“That doesn’t matter,” her mother snaps. “I am not letting Victoria Mantle think I’ve raised a troublemaker.”

“Alice,” Hal sighs, disapproving.

Her mother ignores him and continues, getting worked up about her ladies book club and the gossip Victoria Mantle could be creating. Betty stops listening, falls back against the sofa cushions.

“Mom is so mad.” Polly giggles gleefully, delighting in their mother’s anger. She’s always liked to push her buttons. “You’re my new hero, Betts,” her sister declares.

Betty smiles, feeling strangely warm inside.

 

 

  
On her first day of freedom, Betty races across the lawn to the Andrews’ house and she and Archie climb up to Archie’s new treehouse.

“Why did you do it?” he asks, curious.

Betty shrugs. She’s been doing that a lot recently. She still doesn’t know how to explain what happened.

“I was just so... _mad_. Have you ever been so mad you wanted to hurt somebody?”

“No,” he replies honestly.

Betty hadn’t either until the incident with Reggie and she hopes she never will be again.

“You should see Reggie’s face. He has purple bruises under both of his eyes.” Archie snickers. “Guess that’s what you get for picking on people.”

And that’s when Betty remembers she got mad for the right reasons. She nods in agreement.

 

 

 

 

 

15.

Even when hundreds of miles away, Betty knows her parents are keeping something from her.

Her mother had called her a week into her internship to tell her that Polly had broken down and was going to a group home.

“It’s for the best,” she had said, voice cracking with emotion. “Your father and I can’t give her the help she needs.”

At first, Betty cried. She had curled up on her bed, trying to muffle the sound so as not to alert her fellow intern, whose house she was staying in. She had felt devastated for her sister; poor Polly, sick and sent away.

But then, when the tears had stopped and she could think more clearly, the doubts started to creep in.

Polly wasn’t 'crazy' like her parents said. She was bubbly and sweet, always glass half-full. She liked cheerleading and Jason, and spending Saturday mornings in bed with Betty watching old cartoons. The Polly she had hugged goodbye before she left for LA, the Polly who had wished her luck and told her to text her everyday, hadn’t been _crazy_.

Her parents were hiding something, she knew that for sure. But while she was stuck in LA for the next five weeks, there wasn’t much she could do to find out what it was.

 

 

  
Betty meets Sayid at the magazine. He is also an intern, hoping to score some college credit over the summer, and every morning he makes a point to pass her desk, smile, and say, “Morning, Betty”.

He is tall and handsome and a year older than her, and Betty blushes under his attentions. He makes it so obvious, stopping by her desk to make small talk, smile flirty and charming, and continuously offering her rides home after work despite her assurances that she’s already carpooling with somebody.

Betty has never really had a guy interested in her before. And for the first time in her life, she thinks she may actually like a boy that isn’t Archie.

 

 

  
He asks her out on a date two weeks after she starts.

“I know we’re going our separate ways in a few weeks, but I really like you. I think we could have a lot of fun together.”

Betty can't help but agree and two days later he takes her out to mini-golf. It's fun, a great first date. They play nine holes and flirt constantly - when their equally competitive natures aren’t taking over. He is respectful and sweet, their contact limited to holdings hands as they walk around the course. He even pays for her hot dog afterwards.

Betty punctuates her goodbye with a kiss on his cheek and bites her lip to hide her smile as she watches him drive away.

On their third date, they kiss. It is Betty’s second kiss ever.

(Although she doesn’t really like to count the game of Seven Minutes in Heaven she played at Archie’s birthday party last year, where she was locked in a closet with Fletcher Foley and he tried to shove his tongue down her throat.)

Sayid's lips feel soft and warm against hers and Betty lets out a little gasp when his tongue slips into her mouth. Her fingers curl into his dark hair and she wonders if all kisses are as nice as this.

 

 

  
Sayid grows increasingly bold, hands reaching to cup her breasts and squeezing her ass as they make out in his car.

Betty likes it, for the most part. It feels good when he touches her or when she grinds against his lap, and he always stops immediately when she says things are becoming too much.

He touches her between her legs two weeks after their first date. It is the first time anyone has touched her there and while it doesn’t feel as good as her own hand, Betty still gets a thrill out of the intimacy. In return, she gives him a hand job, clumsy and feeling shy, but he seems to enjoy it' his fingers clutching tight in his sheets as he comes over her hand.

Betty feels empowered and curious, happy to explore this new part of their relationship, something she has never experienced with anyone else. And Sayid is so lovely, letting her set the pace, never pressuring her or trying to test her limits.

Until one day, he does.

“Come on, Betty,” he groans, bucking his hips up into her.

She steadies her hands against his chest, trying to keep him still as she straddles his lap. They are in just their underwear in his bedroom and she can feel him beneath her, hard in his boxers. She knows what he wants but she isn’t ready yet. She may not ever be ready to do that with him.

“Lets just keep kissing,” she suggests, leaning down to kiss him again.

He turns his head at the last second and sighs heavily.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, sitting up.

“Is this seriously it?” he asks. “Is this never going any further?”

“What do you mean?” She frowns. “I thought we were having fun.”

“We are,” he agrees. “Or we _were_. But I thought after you let me finger you, maybe we’d...”

He runs his hand across her bare thigh and Betty swallows.

“I told you I’m not ready.”

He huffs then and sits up so quickly she falls back against his bed.

“I thought the preppy sweaters and the ponytails were just for show. I didn’t actually think...” He trails off.

“Didn’t think what?” she asks quietly, feeling dejected by the direction of the conversation.

“That you’d be so uptight.”

Betty stomach twists uncomfortably and she wills herself not to cry.

“Look, Betty, I’m sorry. Just forget I said anything, okay?” He presses his hand against her bare shoulder blade. “Lets get dressed. I’ll take you home.”

Betty dresses quickly and doesn’t look at him during the entire journey home. He leans across the console before she exits the car but she turns before he can kiss her, his lips landing on her cheek.

She changes into her pajamas as soon as she is inside and texts Archie when she is curled up beneath her comforter. Embarrassment and rejection still swirl within her.

  
**Betty**  
I miss you. Only one more week  <3

 

 

  
When she gets to work on Monday, she doesn’t see Sayid all morning. She assumes it is coincidence but she is relieved. She still isn’t sure how she feels about that night.

Around mid-morning she heads to the staff kitchen to make coffee for herself and her desk-mates but stops abruptly, frozen in the doorway at what she finds inside.

Sayid and another intern, Becca, his body pressing her into the counter as he kisses her neck.

Her first reaction is to walk away, lock herself in a bathroom stall and cry. But then she feels it – white hot rage coursing through her. If she wasn’t holding a cup-holder in her hands, they would have curled up into fists.

She curls her throat loudly and deliberately, and the two break apart quickly, caught.

Sayid’s eyes widen when he sees her. “Oh, _shit_. Betty, I–“

“Go fuck yourself,” Betty snaps, the first time she has ever cursed at another person.

(She shared an unfortunate amount of firsts with him.)

An awkward silence settles over the three of them but Betty refuses to leave. She had a job to do. She pointedly ignores them and turns to the coffee machine. The machine is the only sound in the room for a long moment before Becca huffs and Becca leaves first, confuse. Sayid quickly follows.

Betty still feels mad as she pours grains into the machine but she can't stop the self-satisfied smile from spreading across her face.

 

 

  
She calls Kevin that night and lies repeatedly.

“Are you still enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, it’s awesome.” Only a half-lie; the internship was still fun and she was glad for the experience.

“What about that cute guy? Are you still hooking up?”

“Uh, yeah. He’s, um... he’s really sweet.”

She wasn’t about to tell him. She didn’t want to hear his pity.

“Archie asked about you today. Said he can’t wait to see you.” She can hear the smile in his voice. “I know you’re into your California boy but I really think this could be your chance, Betty. I think Archie may finally see you as a romantic option and not just his best friend.”

“Maybe,” she says quietly.

Any other time she would be thrilled at the suggestion, at the glimmer of hope that Archie might like her back. But today she can’t muster up the energy.

“That’s _it_?” Kevin scoffs. “ _Maybe?_ ”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Kev. I’m just trying not to get my hopes up.”

And it’s true, she wasn’t. But there is a chance that Kevin _is_ right. Maybe Archie finally does see her as something more than a friend, and after her failed fling with Sayid, it might be the right time to be honest with Archie about what she really wants.

When she gets home, they’ll talk.

 

 

 

 

 

16.

Betty is familiar with the anger, the fury that sometimes threatens to consume her. She has the scars on her palms to prove it.

But _this_ – this complete disassociation – is new and unfamiliar. And it terrifies her.

It is like an out of body experience; she feels like she is watching someone who looks like her push Chuck beneath the water with her heel but it’s not really her that is doing it. But then she looks up and sees Veronica’s horrified face and she realizes she has gone too far.

She rips off the wig as soon as she is locked inside Ethel’s bathroom and wipes her hand across her mouth, smearing red lipstick across her face. She can hear Veronica shouting through the door, asking if she’s okay, but she ignores her. She braces her hands on the sink and takes a few deep breaths, trying to stop the trembling in her hands.

She lifts her gaze, looks up into the mirror – messy hair, wild eyes and smudged make-up – and doesn’t recognize herself.

 

 

  
Betty can’t make sense of the mess of emotions swirling within her. There is pain and anger, so much of it, all directed at her parents. How could they do this to Polly? How could they keep something so huge from her?

There is sadness, too, for her sister and her loss, but also a glimmer of joy. Polly was healthy, round with the child she had only just found out about. Betty wasn’t sure what the future held for her sister and her baby but she was glad to know she wasn’t actually sick. It was a small consolation.

Amongst the madness there is Jughead. He is her port in this storm, the only person keeping her grounded as she uncovers her family’s secrets. 

She can’t stop the smile from spreading across her face as she lifts the window for him to climb through. And even as she rambles, thoughts going a mile a minute, all it takes is one touch from him and she is calmer. He makes everything easier.

She isn’t expecting his kiss.

She has thought about it before, what it would be like to kiss him and wrap her arms around him, to feel his body pressed against hers. It had been a fleeting thought once -  after that time she saw him through Archie’s window without a shirt - but it has returned frequently during the last few weeks. They’ve been spending so much time together, trying to unearth the mysteries of their town, and between their sleuthing excursions she has found time to stare at his profile and decide that he really is _so handsome_.

His lips against hers feels like both a soothing balm and the ignition of a fire in her belly. A kiss has never felt this sweet before.

 

 

  
(His kiss is sweet but his “I love you” is even sweeter.)

 

 

  
The world feels upside down. Everything looks the same but also so different. There are parents killing their children, she has a niece and nephew on the way who will never know their father, and her first love is struggling to cope with the arrest of his father.

Betty doesn’t know how one town is supposed to cope with all of this tragedy but she’s glad to have her friends by her side.

Once again, Jughead is there. A constant in the craziness, even when he was so wrapped up in it himself. He is still a mess, trying to sort through the horrors life has thrown at him, and she wants to help him in anyway she can.

(She thinks of a night at Pop’s, the cut on his cheekbone an ugly souvenir of the events before. But his face is still so soft and beautiful as he kisses her scars, kisses her sad away.)

“I love you, Betty Cooper,” he declares in the living area of his trailer.

His hair is unkempt and there are shadows beneath his eyes, but Betty has never seen anything as lovely as his face when she replies, “Jughead Jones, I love you.”

 

 

  
One minute she is on the counter, his body between her legs as he kisses her throat, and the next they are torn apart as he hesitantly approaches his door.

She feels cold and slightly embarrassed as she waits on his couch, her coat now wrapped around her bare upper body. She couldn’t find her shirt – it was somewhere on Jughead’s kitchen floor – and she was too busy trying to listen to the commotion outside.

"...This is yours, if you want it."

She peers through the space in the doorway, eyebrows knitting together as she sees the leather and embroidery now stretched across his back.

“Juggie?”

He looks up at her, startled, and doesn’t have time to mask the curiosity on his face.

The jacket is like a second skin, fitting him like a glove, as if it were made just for him. She knows this could be bad news, could bring something neither of them is prepared for. But instead of anger she feels dread, her eyes focused on the green snake now covering her boyfriend’s back.

 

 

 

 

 

17.

Betty can’t catch her breath, she is crying so hard. She feels isolated, totally alone, just the way he wants her to be.

She has lost so much in so little time – Veronica, Jughead, her sanity. Her only consolation is that she didn’t have to see Jughead’s face as she told him it was over. That would have been more than she could bear.

Her phone rings again, that damn song she cannot stop hearing in her head. She should change her ringtone, put it on silent, but everytime she touches her phone she is terrified that it will ring again, or God forbid, she will miss one of his calls.

She feels frantic and sick as he demands a name, the same way she does every time he calls but this time so much worse. He'd made her wear the hood, see herself as his equal, and now he was pushing her to become just like him.

Finally she blurts out Nick St. Clair – the only person she can think of that is truly guilty of a terrible sin.

“I told you we were the same.”

 

 

  
It is her breaking point. She can’t do this anymore, can’t listen to his demands and his rants about sin and right and wrong. She had ran as fast as she could as soon as she woke - still dressed in the same clothes after a night of almost no sleep - and had felt almost breathless with relief as she laid her eyes on Nick.

He was human garbage but she couldn’t have that on her conscience.

She resolves to make a change, to end the Black Hood's control. Because now she is no longer fuelled by fear; now she is really fucking _angry_.

 

 

  
On that stage she had felt emboldened, alive, but now she feels small and stupid, like a little girl pretending to be a woman.

She can’t even remember why she did it. It had felt like a good idea at the time, a way to prove to Jughead that she belonged in his new world. But then it had backfired and now she is alone again.

She was alone so often now. At one time she had pushed everyone away under the Black Hood’s instructions and nothing has been quite the same since. Veronica and Archie are always so wrapped up in each other, Jughead is desperately trying to prove himself as a Serpent, and Kevin seems to choose at random when he wants to be her best friend.

But now Veronica has left Archie and Jughead has left her, and she may finally have someone to be alone with.

She looks out of her window at the boy she used to be so infatuated with and wonders if he is the only person who can make all of this feel okay.

 

 

  
The Black Hood has finally been caught and her brother has been found, but Betty feels no relief.

The marks on her hands are worse than ever as the rage she feels stays locked inside. She has no outlet because she is mad at so many things.

Her parents won’t stop fighting, always snapping at each other and making thinly-veiled accusations. Her sister has gone to find a new home, keeping them apart from her niece and nephew, and leaving Betty to pick up the pieces. Her brother – this stranger – is causing more problems than she ever could have foreseen and _Jughead_...

He is always on her mind, even when she tries not to think of him. She misses him terribly, has to stop herself from finding him and pleading with him to reconsider, to take her back. He is her constant, the one person that can make everything feel okay while her family implodes around her, but now he is gone. He doesn’t want her around anymore and she has to learn to deal with that.

 

 

 

(She never does. She doesn't need to. They are meant to be together.)

 

 

  
He is hers again and nothing has ever felt so right.

He looks so hesitant and nervous as he meets her eye, his hands skimming the naked skin of her back. But his kisses are hard, full of intent, and Betty rocks herself against his lap as she tries to tell him with no words that she wants this, _so much_.

But she knows it’s not enough, knows he needs to hear the words.

“I want you. All of you. Tonight.”

His stunned expression is so beautiful and she wonders how he can be so blind, how he can’t see just how badly she wants to be with him.

There is a sting as he pushes inside of her and Betty grips his shoulders tight as she tries to control her movements above him, tries to find something that feels good. Even with the pain, there is nothing else she’d rather be doing and no one else she’d rather be doing it with.

“I love you,” he moans into her skin as he comes inside of her, too fast and sudden, and it feels so good to hear him say those words again.

 

 

  
They go for breakfast at Pop’s, a morning date to celebrate their reunion, and Betty can’t stop smiling. She presses in close in the booth, body up against his and fingers linked.

But even as she sits there content, so happy to be with him again, she can’t ignore the guilt niggling in the back of her mind. He had confessed to her about Toni but she had lied to him, hadn’t told him about her kiss with Archie. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, didn’t want to see him crushed as she poked at one of his biggest insecurities.

It will remain a secret, for now. She will tell him another day, when things have settled, and Betty’s heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to burst from her chest. The anger and hurt that will surely come can wait, because she wants this day – just one day to be completely happy and with him.

 

 

  
(She does tell him, a week later. There is hurt and confusion, but not the anger she had expected. He wants to understand, wants to know how she was feeling that made her kiss him.

She tells him of the loneliness, the feeling of rejection, and he is so mad at himself for making her feel that way, but she doesn’t want him to blame himself. It had been a moment of weakness, nothing more, and now it was done.

“I know you love me,” he says firmly, taking her hands in his. He is confident in this, in a way he hasn’t always been.

“I do, Juggie. There’s no one else,” she replies and she has never meant anything more.)

 

 

 

 

 

18.

Betty’s senior year is a mess of love and fury, and for once, the fury isn’t hers.

Her parents are at each other’s throats, her mother’s refusal to turn Chic away hanging over them like a strange sort of betrayal, and her father’s indiscretion with Penelope Blossom never mentioned but always waiting silently in the wings.

There is a silver lining in the form of Betty’s acceptance to Columbia. It is her dream school in a city she had always wanted to live in, and she can’t believe she and Jughead will actually be moving to New York together in the summer.

Of course, with her acceptance comes new determination to ace her finals. Betty has so much studying to do – endless hours of reading and note-taking and cue cards – but it’s damn near impossible in her home. If her parents aren't screaming at each other, the babies are crying. There is constant noise and distraction and she knows of only one place she would rather be.

“Thanks for letting me study here,” she says, leaning up on her toes to kiss him.

“No problem,” Jughead smiles as he slips her coat from her shoulders.

 

 

  
They work in silence, the turning of pages and the scratch of pens against paper the only sounds in the room.

Betty finishes up her notes for her Chemistry test and then lifts her hands over her head. She knits her fingers together, cracking her knuckles and stretching out her muscles. She lets out a long sigh, the stretching so good after two hours sat cross-legged on the floor.

When she looks over at Jughead she finds him staring, eyes focused on the strip of skin showing between her sweater and her jeans.

“What?” she asks self-consciously, tugging the sweater down.

Jughead shakes his head, mutters, “Nothing,” as he returns his focus to his textbook, but there’s a smile on his face.

She returns to her notes, taking out her yellow highlighter to highlight key words. She tries to focus but she can feel him staring again, and when she looks up, he quickly diverts his gaze.

“Jug, come on. What is it?” she asks, feeling almost embarrassed. What was he looking at?

“It’s nothing. Just...” He sighs, drops his pen onto his book. “You just look really hot in that sweater, okay?”

She looks down at her top, noting the v-neck that dips lower than anything she usually wears. It isn’t unusual for Jughead to compliment her but she still blushes.

“Oh.”

“I said it was nothing. Just forget about it. We need to study.”

Betty bites her lip, watching him. There is color in his cheeks and she thinks he’s probably feeling a little dejected. He was so... _into her_ these days. Sometimes she didn’t know what to do with all of the attention. Ever since they had taken the extra step in their relationship, had spent time learning each other's bodies and what feels good, he didn’t seem to be able to keep his hands off her. And while she often felt the same about him, she seemed to have a little more self-control.

“You know,” she says, tone light and teasing. “We could always take a break. I think we’ve earned one.”

He look over at her, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

His voice is higher and she knows he’s already caught on.

“Yeah.” She smirks. “And I know just what we should do to help us relax.”

Jughead groans and throws his book onto the couch before joining her on the floor. He kisses her hard, pushing her backwards until he is hovering over her, his body between her legs.

“Seriously, this sweater is killing me, Betts.” He traces the curve of her cleavage that rises above the neckline. “God, you’re so hot.”

Betty smiles mischievously. “Do you know what would be even better? If you took it off me.”

He groans again, burying his face in her neck.

“You always have the best ideas,” he murmurs, then kisses her throat.

Betty giggles, wraps her arms around him until she can feel his full weight against her. His lips kiss a path from her neck to her breasts and soon her giggles dissolve into moans.

In this room, she forgets about all of the noise at home. There is only him and his lips and his hands, touching her and loving her and making all of her frustrations fade away.

He undresses her and then himself, his eyes blazing as they trail over her naked skin. Betty’s lips part in a gasp as he pushes inside of her.

“I love you,” he says against her lips.

“I love you, too,” she says back, fingers curling into his shoulder blades.

 

 

  
The last day of summer holds an unexpected kind of sadness. She knew it would be difficult, leaving the familiarity behind and saying goodbye to friends that were about to move whole states away.

Still, she hadn’t expected to feel sad about leaving her hometown. Riverdale held so much pain for her and her family, and over the years it had felt as if the town was cursed.

But as the sun sets over Sweetwater River on that August evening, Betty sits between Jughead’s legs on a picnic blanket and she can only remember the good times. Summers in Archie’s treehouse and sleepovers at Kevin’s, meeting her best friend and falling in love for the first time and this, right here; being surrounded by her best friends, grilling food and listening to the music filtering out of Archie’s car stereo.

“Are you okay?” Jughead murmurs against her ear, wrapping his arms tight around her.

She smiles and tilts her head back to kiss him.

“I’m okay.”

And she was, more than. She would miss her hometown but she’s hoping that with her leaving, some of the pain it has caused her will remain here, too.

 

 

 

 

 

20.

Her mother gives her the news over the phone. She doesn’t sound sad, more resigned, as if this has been a long time coming. Betty’s sure it has.

“We’re selling the house. I’m staying with Polly until I find a place of my own,” she says, very direct and matter of fact. Then, softer, “You can come home and help us pack up your room, if you want? Say goodbye to the house?”

“Okay,” she replies, feeling wistful, sentimental, as she thinks of her pretty pink bedroom that has been hers for her whole life. “Just tell me which weekend and I’ll drive up.”

 

 

  
It isn’t until she is at her old house, packing away old toys and clothes and spelling bee trophies into boxes, that she finds out just what was the dealbreaker in her parent’s marriage. She had assumed it was a natural end, both of them now weary after years of fighting and silent treatment. It turns out, it was much more than that.

“He almost died, Betty. When Mom found him he was almost choking on his own vomit and there was a needle beside him,” Polly explains as they sit on the front stoop of their childhood home. “And it wasn’t the first time Chic has brought drugs into the house. The main reason I moved out was because he left a baggie of cocaine on his nightstand and the door open. It was right there, in front of my eyes, not even hidden. I mean, what if Junie or Dagwood had picked it up?”

Betty shakes her and smoothes her hands back over her ponytail. She usually left her hair down and loose these days, but she had felt like a high pony was required during her final return to her childhood home.

“And Mom is still standing by him?”

Polly shrugs. “I guess so. I think she feels... guilty. And Dad just... doesn’t.”

She sighs. “What a fucking mess.”

They sit in silence, watching the trees that line their street rustle in the breeze; trees that have been there for years, another staple of their childhood.

“That’s cute,” Polly comments, running her finger across the beaded bracelet stretched tight around Betty’s wrist.

She smiles. “Thanks.”

She had made it in elementary school and found it earlier in an old jewellery box. The beads are plastic and square, letters printed on them that spell, “COOPER” with a little heart on the end. She spins one of the beads with her finger, the second ‘O’ in Cooper now faded and barely visible.

She looks out across the street again, getting her fill for the last time.

She expects to feel sad and longing but what she really feels is a simmering anger, threatening to boil over. Her family has finally fallen apart and she can't help but feel she is part of the reason why.

 

 

  
The second time she punches someone she is twenty and she should know better, but she can’t stop herself.

Chic is stood in the now empty living room, hands in his pockets as he looks around. She doesn’t know where he’s been all day – he didn’t help them pack anything away – and she doesn’t know why he’s here now. This wasn’t his home, not really.

“This place looks huge,” he comments, conversationally.

She ignores him. “Where are you living now?”

“With my buddy in Jersey but I’m thinking about moving to the West coast.”

Betty tenses up. “So you’re not going to be around anymore?”

He shrugs. “Nope.”

The thought should make her happy. He has been a constant source of pain and struggle in their lives ever since she found him in that hostel, but she can’t believe that after all he has done, he is running away when he has finally gotten what he wanted.

Her mother will be crushed.

Her hands curl up, thumb outside the fist just like Archie taught her when she was ten. She walks towards him – his eyebrows knit together as he watches her approach – pulls her arm back and punches him square in the face.

He stumbles back, hands flying up to cover his face. She doesn’t know how much damage she’s done but her hand is stinging, so she knows she’s made some impact.

“What the _fuck_ , Betty?” he yells.

“That was for my mom. And for putting Junie and Dag in danger,” she says through gritted teeth. "Don't ever talk to me again.”

Her mother and Polly run into the house at the sound of his shouts of pain. They are wide-eyed, staring between the two of them as they try to make sense of what has just happened.

“There’s two more boxes upstairs. I’m going to put them in the truck,” she says, walking away before they can ask any questions.

 

 

  
Betty becomes another statistic – a child of divorced parents – and then another cliche.

At the age of twenty she is furious and heartbroken at the end of her parent’s marriage. She has so many conflicting thoughts swirling around her brain, so much blame that she wants to place on so many people.

She is angry at her mother for allowing her guilt over Chic’s adoption to consume her, and cause such a huge rift between her and her family. She is angry at her father for not fighting for his marriage and his family; he had given up long ago, even before Chic and the whole mess he brought with him. And Chic – she is furious at him and his ability to only bring more pain to her family. He was supposed to be the missing piece, the thing that would make her parents happy again.

Mostly she is angry at herself for thinking Chic would be the answer to her family’s problems. She was the one that had found him, brought him home, allowed him to enter their house and permeate it with his unhealthy habits and twisted lifestyle.

Chic was the final straw in her parent’s fraught marriage. He had been the thing that shattered any chance of them re-connecting and fixing what had become broken. And it was all her fault.

 

 

  
The guilt eats away at her but she tries hard to hide it from Jughead. She doesn’t want him to worry but she also doesn’t want him to think she’s pathetic. She was an adult, she shouldn’t be this upset over her parent’s divorce.

She throws herself into studying for her finals as a distraction. Jughead doesn’t bother her when she is so focused and that means there is less chance of him picking up on the signs, seeing the guilt she knows is written all over her face.

The only problem is, she isn’t focused – _at all_. She is good at studying, knows how to do it effectively, but with such a mix of emotions plaguing her, it is hard to keep her mind on one task. She finds herself reading the same passages over and over, barely understanding the words on the page, and making hurried notes that are illegible to her the next day.

It all comes to a head after her first final exam. She leaves quickly, feeling embarrassed and tearful. She doesn’t let them fall until she is in the safety and privacy of their apartment, breaking down as soon as she is through the door. She slinks down the wall and buries her face in her knees, hands curled into tight fists as tears pour down her face.

She doesn’t hear Jughead enter, doesn’t notice his presence until he is asking, frantically, “Betts? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I fucked up, Jug,” she says quietly, cheek pressed against her knees as she turns to him, now crouched down beside her. “I did so bad on the test.”

His brow furrows. “What? But you’ve been studying so hard, for weeks.”

She shakes her head. “I tried, Jug. I tried really hard but I just couldn’t focus and then I couldn’t stop thinking about my mom and my dad and Chic...”

She wipes at her face, trying to dry some of her tears, and sees Jughead tense beside her.

“Betts,” he says softly as he reaches out for her hands.

He takes them between his own, stares down at her palms in horror. Betty looks down too, shocked to see the blood pouring out of the crescent marks in her hands. It’s only then that she notices the sting, the pain.

“I thought you’d stopped doing this,” he murmurs. “You said you weren’t hurting yourself anyone.”

“I’m not!” she protests quickly, then softer, “or I wasn’t.” She sighs. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Jug. Ever since I went home I just feel so... awful.”

Jughead reaches out to cup her face in his hand, his thumb stroking across her cheek.

“Betty, you are _not_ awful. And you can’t blame yourself for what is happening between your parents.” In a more cautious tone, he adds, “Maybe you should talk to someone about this.”

She knows what he’s getting at. “Like a therapist?”

“Yeah, like a therapist.” He smiles, slight and sad. “I'm always here for you, baby, but I can’t give you the support you need.”

“I know,” she agrees quietly. And she does know, she just hasn’t been able to recognize it while she was so wrapped up in her own head.

“Come on, lets get you cleaned up.”

He bathes and cleans her hands in the kitchen, dressing the small but deep wounds in her palms with supplies from their little first aid kit. She looks at the marks, curiously. She hadn’t even really noticed that she was doing it and she definitely hadn’t realized the marks had gotten so bad.

“That should do it.”

He smiles at her, then lifts her hands and presses a kiss to her knuckles, and Betty feels sixteen again, sitting in a booth at Pop’s as she tells him her deepest, darkest secret.

“I love you, Juggie,” she says softly, sincerely, because she does. So much. And she’s so grateful to have him in her life.

He kisses her. “I love you, too.”

 

 

 

 

 

25.

She can hear the emotion in his voice before he starts crying.

“I know she was sick but... why wasn’t I enough, Betts? Why did she take Jellybean but not me?”

“Juggie,” Betty murmurs, heart breaking for him. She wishes he was beside her instead of miles away, outside a diner across town, crying into his phone. “I don't know why she did what she did, but I know she loved you.”

“Then why didn't she take me with her? Or stick around?” He lets out a frustrated noise, gritting his teeth. “God, I feel so stupid. I’m fucking twenty five years old. Why am I crying over this?”

“It’s okay to cry," she tries to reassure him. "You’re allowed to be upset. You haven’t seen your mom in a long time.”

“This was supposed to be good for me,” he says, some anger creeping into his tone. “I finally have a relationship with my sister again, after missing her for so long. But now my mom’s back too and all of this shit I try not to think about has been brought back up.”

“I know, Jug. But this was the first meeting. Things can get better."

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “I guess I just don’t see how I can ever forgive her when I can't let go of this anger. And the worst thing is it isn't even her fault. Not really. She was sick, Betts. She needed help.”

In that moment she is so irrationally angry at Gladys Jones, a woman she hasn’t seen in over a decade. She may have been sick, she may have needed support herself, but taking Jellybean and leaving him behind has affected Jughead in irreparable ways. She is so mad about that, mad _for_ him. She had abandoned her son, leaving him with a father that had no business raising a teenager alone. She left behind broken hearts and a feeling of rejection, of never being good enough. 

Jughead has carried that burden with him for years and it doesn’t seem like it will ever truly go away. 

“Come home, Juggie,” she pleads. “We can talk some more but I just want you here with me. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Okay,” he agrees, his voice low. “I’ll be there soon.”

 

 

  
That night, she lies in their bed, Jughead sound asleep with his head on her chest. He looks so relaxed and peaceful in slumber, as if all of the trauma from the night didn’t happen.

Betty combs her fingers through his hair as she reflects upon her feelings. She had felt immediate rage when he called her and it had remained there, simmering, as he poured his heart out when he got home. But now that she’s more clear-headed, she mostly feels sad. There are so many broken hearts in Jughead's story, so many people who needed support but never got it; and yes, Gladys had responsibilities as a mother but that didn't make her pain any less important.

Now Betty is left wondering if it was even Gladys that she was annoyed with.

Jughead’s parents have never been the people he needed them to be, but despite outward appearances, her parents haven’t either. And there is still resentment within her, she realizes, because they’ve never quite acknowledged their mistakes.

She decides to talk to her therapist about it during her next session. For now, she is going to lie here and keep combing her fingers through Jughead's hair as he sleeps.

 

 

  
With the support of her therapist, Betty decides to talk with her mom and dad.

Her mother is first.

She drives to Riverdale, to her mother’s new home, a one-storey in a Northside neighborhood. It is surprisingly modern, nothing like the traditional daydream that was her childhood home. 

Her mother looks surprised when she opens the door. She doesn’t look like she used to either, switching out the pastels for darker colors and heavy bangs covering her forehead. She thinks this is probably the person her mother truly is; she had just been playing a role for all of those years, forcing herself into the mould of the good wife because she thought that’s what she should be.

The thought makes her sad but Betty pushes it back. They needed to have a conversation and Betty needed to finally tell her mother how she really felt.

“What are you doing here?” she asks. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” she assures her. “I just really want to... talk.”

They sit at her kitchen island, cups of coffee between their hands. Betty holds onto the cup tightly as she tries to ignore the urge to curl her hands up into fists.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” she confesses and her mother’s eyes widen. “I’ve been... hurting myself. For a long time, ever since I was a teenager. Maybe even before that.”

Her mother reaches for her hand. “Betty, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to,” she admits. “But I couldn’t bring myself to. And then it got really bad during my junior year – I was struggling to cope with your divorce and finals and everything became too much."

“I don’t do it anymore,” she is quick to add. “I feel the urge sometimes but I don’t do it. Therapy has helped with that.”

Alice smiles. “Well, I am so happy that you’re not doing that anymore. Is that why you came here, to tell me that?” her mother asks gently.

“Yes, but... there is more.” Betty swallows the lump forming in her throat. “I’ve talked to my therapist about this a lot and we’ve pinpointed some of the reasons _why_ I did it. And she thinks it's a good idea for me to come talk to you, to explain it.”

Her mother waits quietly, patiently, and Betty is so relieved that she is willing to listen to her; isn’t turning on her for admitting weakness.

“I always felt so pressured,” she admits. “By you, by dad, by my teachers. There was this expectation for me to be perfect and I could never match up. And it only got worse when Polly got pregnant and you sent her away.”

Her mother’s eyes soften. “Betty, we never expected you to be _perfect_. We just wanted the best for you.”

“Well it didn’t feel that way,” she says, some irritation in her tone. “Your were always so controlling – about what I ate, what I was wearing, who I was friends with. I was never allowed to do anything without you trying to take over.”

Alice’s lips purse and she knows she’s hit a nerve.

“Right. So that's what this is? A chance for you to blame me for everything that’s gone wrong if your life?”

Betty exhales heavily. She had expected this.

“ _No_. It isn’t. It’s a chance for me to tell you what I always wanted to but never could.”

“And what is that exactly?”

“That whether you like it or not, the way you sometimes treated me has had a negative effect on me, and I don’t think you’ve ever accepted it.”

Her mother falls silent and turns her head away, staring out of the window. Betty has expected this, too, a total shutdown. She gets it – what parent wanted to hear that they had hurt their child? - but Betty doesn’t think she can ever let go of her anger if she doesn't tell her mom and dad how she feels.

“Okay. I’m gonna go,” she says, rising from the stool. “Call me if you want to talk.”

She grabs her bag and walks towards the front door, her hand on the handle when her mother says, “Betty?”

She turns, surpised. Her mother’s eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

“I know, okay? I know I was too hard on you. But I just wanted you to have the life that I never had.”

She nods. “I understand that. I really do.”

There is a sad little smile on her mother's face as she says, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For all of it – for pressuring you, for staying with your father when we didn’t love each other, for clinging onto Chic when I should have let him go.”

In that moment it feels like a weight has been lifted from her chest. Almost immediately, there is a new lightness Betty wasn’t sure she’d ever feel, small but noticeable.

She closes the distance between them and wraps her up in a hug.

“I love you, Mom.”

Alice strokes her hair. "I love you, too, Betty. Always."

 

 

 

 

 

28.

Betty can’t remember ever feeling this happy.

Happiness often comes with the territory of being in Jughead’s presence. He can make her smile even on her darkest days and when he had declared in front of their friends and family that he would never stop trying to make her happy, she believed him. But today it is not just her new husband that has made her day so special.

As she sits in Jughead’s lap, her pretty, white dress now creased from the activity of the day, she looks out across the gazebo that covers their wedding guests.

The venue is beautiful, an old hotel upstate with stunning gardens and a lovely patio for them to hold their reception. It is gorgeous and she is so glad she got to marry him here.

It is just another element of their day and somehow the beauty around them pales in comparison to the warmth in Betty’s chest as she watches the people she loves come together in one place. Her best friends are here – people she has loved since she was a child – as well as friends she’s made later in life, who have only known adult Betty and none of the craziness of her formative years.

And her family too – her father and his new wife, her mother, her sister, her niece and nephew. They are all sharing the same space, chatting and laughing as if there has been no pain and drama in the Cooper family. She knows it may be forced, a combined effort to be well-behaved on her big day, but whatever the reason, Betty is grateful.

She has a lot to be happy about on this day and at the top of that list is marrying her best friend.

“What are you thinking about?” Jughead asks quietly. He presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“Nothing much.” She smiles, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. “I’m just so happy we’re finally here. This felt like a long time coming.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve wanted to marry you since I was sixteen years old.”

She laughs. “Whatever, charmer.”

He grins and leans up to kiss her.

She glides her fingers along his jawline, her touch feather-light as their eyes meet. She smiles.

“This day has been a perfect day.”

 

 

 

 

 

30.

She has been lying to him this whole time. Through all of his fears during her pregnancy, she has tried so hard to be supportive and understanding, to soothe his worries. She doesn’t want him to be focused on all of the ways he believes he can hurt their child and she’s done what she can to assure him that he won’t, that they are in this together.

But now her water has broken and the contractions are so much worse than she imagined they would be and the words just come tumbling out of her mouth.

“I can’t do this, Jug,” she cries, squeezing his hand. “Everything I’ve said – it’s bullshit. I’m fucking terrified. I can’t do this.”

“ _Betty_.” He levels her with a look, takes her face between his hands. “I know this is scary, but baby, this is happening. And you’re gonna face this head-on and be so fucking strong, the way you always are.”

“But.. but what about after the birth?” she says, voice high and panicked. “I’m not ready to be someone’s mom. I’ve never even been to Europe or eaten Korean barbecue or owned a dog. I haven’t lived!”

She is babbling, hysterical, but he looks amused. He chuckles softly and presses a quick kiss to her lips.

“Betts, you can do anything you put your mind to and that’s why you’re gonna be an amazing mom,” he tells her confidently. “And you can still do _all_ of those things, but first, you need to go to the hospital. Okay?”

She nods, takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Alright, lets do this.” He squeezes her hand. “Lets go have a baby.”

 

 

  
Betty has never felt so serene.

Birth was stressful and sweaty and one of the hardest things she’s ever done. Her hair is still stuck to her now-dry forehead and she hurts in ways she never has before, but none of that matters when she looks into her daughter’s eyes.

“I can’t believe we actually have a kid,” Jughead murmurs, eyes also focused on the baby in her arms. “I mean, we made her. We did that.”

Betty giggles, strokes the downy hair covering her little head.

“I know. It’s so crazy. And she’s so perfect.”

“Right?” He smiles, reaching for one of her tiny hands. “She’s beautiful. She looks just like you.”

“Do you think so?” she asks, because she can’t really see it. Her features are small and so pretty but all Betty can see is Jughead’s nose and dark hair.

“Sure,” he replies. “Those lips, those big eyes. That’s all you.”

Betty smiles. She couldn't see it yet but she can’t wait to watch her daughter grow, to see the features on her face that she also sees on her own.

“Hey, Betts?” She looks over at him. “Thank you,” he says gently.

She leans forward just so and he meets her halfway to kiss her.

“Thank _you_ ,” she whispers against his lips.

Jughead takes the baby from her as she struggles into a more upright position. He sits beside her on the bed and lays the baby out in front of them, sound asleep in her hospital-issued blanket.

“So what are we going to call her?”

“Well Sophia was at the top our list but I don’t think that suits her. I think she looks more like our second choice,” she comments, running her thumb across her tiny fingers.

“She does look like a Daisy,” he agrees with a smile. He carefully lifts the baby, still unpracticed, and cradles her in his arms. “Daisy Jones,” he says, testing out her full name.

She rests her head on his shoulder, smiling as she watches her sleep so peacefully in his arms, father and daughter already so comfortable with each other. She is so in love with them both.

“Daisy Jones,” she repeats, trying it for herself, and it sounds absolutely perfect.

 


End file.
